High Stakes
by smuffly
Summary: A detective. A lab rat. A rooftop. A cold-blooded killer. What could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

**HIGH STAKES**

**A/N:** My friend is feeling a little miffed about my under-use of the very charming Detective Flack. So I thought I'd make it up to her...

Since the finale of Season 8, I've also been very intrigued (and delighted) by the idea of Adam as a CSI, and I've been trying to work out when that ambition might have started, as he seems to pop in and out of fieldwork quite randomly, with large patches of time where he is only in the lab. This story fits in with my theory - I hope that it doesn't clash with yours.

**Disclaimer:** Dreaming aside, the boys aren't mine. What a pity.

**Chapter One**

"Feelin' lucky today, honey?"

Don Flack shrugged his shoulders and gave the grey-haired woman a crooked smile. "Hey - you never know, Marisa." Throwing his money onto the counter, he took the ticket and slipped it into his pocket. "Seems like a good day. Sun's out, people're smiling. Why not take a chance?"

"You and the rest of this city," Marisa grinned. "That's the seventh ticket I've sold in the last half hour."

"Then maybe our instincts are good." Don laughed as he turned to go. "Somebody's got to win it, right?"

"I'll cross my fingers for you." She blew him a kiss and giggled like a schoolgirl. The detective's early morning visit was always the highlight of her day.

Leaving the bodega, Don balanced his coffee cup on top of the car and unlocked the door. _Now if this really is a lucky day,_ he thought, _all the bad guys'll stay in bed and I can finally take a crack at that mountain of paperwork on my desk._

Needless to say, the radio chose that exact moment to burst into life.

The detective sighed. So much for wishful thinking.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam Ross had already been at the crime lab for several hours. A stack of finished reports and test results lay neatly beside him and now he was staring at the elevator doors like a man obsessed. Mac had promised him even more time in the field if he cleared his workload. Little did his boss suspect that Adam had been coming in at five o' clock every morning for a whole week since the offer had been made. High on caffeine and fizzing with nervous energy, the lab tech was ready to call Mac's bluff.

He couldn't really remember the exact moment when he had decided that his dream in life was to be a CSI. For a long time, he had loved his job in the lab. Field work was fun - a different kind of puzzle. But experience had already shown him that the wider realms of detection could be fraught with danger and distress. Each time that happened, he had retreated gratefully back into his glass cocoon. And then, unexpectedly, everything had changed. Maybe it was the whole Haylen fiasco. Or perhaps the sudden loss of Stella, which had hit him harder than anybody knew. All he knew was that the crime lab began to feel smaller - claustrophobic, even - and the city beckoned to him. At first, he had kept his feelings to himself - or so he thought. Jo was the one who finally wormed them out of him. _Who else?_ he thought, with a wry grin. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the boss's office, trying to justify his grand ambition. Mac had been supportive, but wary.

"You're a hard worker, Adam; I know that. And if you really want this, I'll back you all the way..."

"But?" suggested Adam, sensing the unspoken word.

"But...," Mac continued, wanting to frame his next thought as kindly as he could. "Do you understand _all_ the things you'll have to do as a proper CSI?"

"Of course I do." Adam tried to hide how hurt he felt. "I'm not a coward, Mac. I can handle guns as well as any cop - you've seen that for yourself. And I'm tougher than I look. Plus I've been to dozens of crime scenes already, helping you guys out. You gave me a chance to learn and I'm grateful. I've watched you work. I can do this."

"I'm aware of your abilities," said Mac quietly. "That wasn't what I meant." He sighed. "Forget it. Your request is noted, Adam. Prove to me that you're serious."

Now, as the elevator doors pinged open, Adam rose to his feet. _Just wait and see how serious I am,_ he thought, running one hand through his wayward hair in a futile attempt to tame it. Mac stepped out and - almost as though he could sense him - turned his face towards the eager lab tech. Without a word, he nodded once. Adam's face lit up.

"Really, boss?" he gasped, rushing out into the corridor.

"Really. For this whole day, you're a CSI in training, Adam Ross. Don't let me down."

Which, in retrospect, was probably not the best thing he could have said. Mac winced, but Adam was too excited to notice. "Thanks, boss. Don't worry, I won't. Today'll be great... just wait and see!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Don Flack was a little surprised when Danny turned up with Adam by his side, but he knew enough to hide it. After all, he had heard the rumours. And who was he to throw cold water on anyone's ambition? He hadn't spent a lot of time with the man but, secretly, he rather liked him. He was funny, and smart in a way that was far beyond Don's comprehension, yet he didn't shove it in your face. In fact, he didn't really seem to notice it at all. And that whole thing with Sam's car - Don still owed him one for that. Adam as a CSI, though - somehow, that just didn't sit right. The detective frowned doubtfully behind their backs as they entered the room.

"Hey, Messer. Who's your friend?"

"Ha ha." Danny put down his case. "Adam's with me today, okay? CSI school."

"And Mac thought you were the best one to teach him? I find that hard to believe." Don's eyes twinkled as he pulled a sympathetic face at the lab rat.

"On a roll today, aren't you, detective?" Clapping Adam on the back, Danny looked around the room. "So. What you got for us?"

"I'm thinking homicide." With a few economical gestures, Flack took them on a tour of the crime scene. "Busted lock. Broken coffee cup - just one, so our victim was probably on his own. Signs of a struggle here in the kitchen. Ransacked drawers but not much taken, suggests the killer was looking for something in particular. And finally, let me introduce you to John Street - apartment owner, recently deceased, on account of this strange red hole that seems to have appeared in his chest."

_Sarcasm, _thought Adam nervously. _Okay. I can handle that. Skip to the facts._ "Any sign of the bullet?" he asked. "Only, it looks like the guy was shot at pretty close quarters. See the powder burns on his shirt? And the blood pool underneath him suggests that it was probably a through and through, okay, 'cos it hasn't dripped round from this side. There's not much blood on his front, so it must have come from an exit wound in his back..." The lab tech trailed off, as he realised that the other two men were staring at him. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, buddy," Danny told him quietly. "That's good observation."

Clearing his throat and trying to look nonchalant, Don checked his notebook. "First officer on the scene didn't see any sign of a bullet. Guess that means it's up to you."

Glancing at Danny, Adam was relieved to see him nodding. He was so used to someone giving him jobs to do. It was good to know that his own instincts weren't totally useless. "Go for it," said his colleague. "You know the drill. I'll be right here if you need me."

"Okay," breathed Adam. He moved away from them slowly, his eyes still lingering on the body, and the bloody mess that surrounded it. John Street was not an old man, and his final expression was one of dismay, not fear. His dark eyes stared at the ceiling, devoid of life, and his fingers were splayed in shock. The gunshot wound had caught him directly in the heart. Adam sighed. He had seen dead bodies before, of course, but mostly down in Sid's domain, where they were cold, and clean, and impersonal. The crime scene ones were always worse. So immediate, and so sad...

"Hey," said Flack, catching sight of his face. "You can do this."

"Oh, Yeah, sure, I know." Adam gave the detective an unexpected smile, forcing Flack to rethink his assumption. Turning away with a grin of his own, he began to talk with Danny, allowing Adam time and space to settle into his work. That was thoughtful, and now it was Adam's turn to be surprised. Don Flack was a familiar face around the lab, but the two men didn't really know each other well. Mostly, in Adam's experience, the lab tech blurted out whatever information he had gathered and the detective listened with an expression that was either grateful, amused or exasperated, depending upon the urgency of the case. Beyond that, Adam generally kept to the edges when Flack was around. He couldn't say why the man made him nervous. He only knew that he did.

Planning to take a more scientific approach to his bullet-hunt later, once the body had been removed, Adam began by searching the walls. He estimated John Street's height to be about five foot nine, and, at first glance, the entry wound did not look like an angled shot, so he concentrated on an area that was level with his own head and below, all the way down to the floor, in case the bullet had lost momentum after leaving the victim's back. The lab rat worked his way round from the window to the door, but he didn't find a bullet hole.

He did find something else.

On the dark wooden doorframe, almost impossible to make out from a distance, was a faint, bloody handprint.

Adam's eyes widened in excitement. He looked across to where Danny and Flack were still deep in conversation. Clearly, something about the body had intrigued them. Wary of interrupting, he flagged the print and considered his alternatives.

Stand around and wait for them to finish.

Or follow the print and maybe even find a trail that would tell them how the murderer left the building.

_What would Mac do?_

In Adam's mind, that was obvious. Desperate to prove himself and show his independence, he slipped out of the apartment and began to look for another print.

Neither detective noticed that he had left.


	2. Chapter 2

**HIGH STAKES**

**A/N:** Wow! Thanks for the kind response to Chapter One. I was actually a little nervous about this story, for various reasons, and now I feel much happier. Which means I've got over the writer's block that was Chapter Three and I'm whizzing ahead at last. More chapters should be up soon...

**Chapter Two**

It was Danny, bending down to look in his kit, who finally spotted that Adam had gone. Glancing across the room, he had expected to see him nose to wall, absorbed in the kind of detailed search that he excelled at. But oddly, there was no sign of him.

"Yo, Adam," he called out, standing up in a hurry. _Nice one, Messer. You've lost him already. Who knew he'd be harder than Lucy to babysit?_

"Maybe he ducked out to fetch something from the car?" suggested Don.

"Nah - he brought _everything_," sighed Danny. "Talk about eager. There must be another reason."

They glanced at each other and then at the open door.

"Okay, how about this?" Don pocketed his notebook. "You check around the apartment. I'll go look outside. He can't have gone far. Maybe Sanchez has seen him. I think she's still canvassing tenants."

Danny nodded. It was silly to panic, but he couldn't help feeling unsettled by this strange turn of events. Adam was not a foolish man, but he did have flashes of truly naive behaviour - and that was worrying. Danny knew that the man had been burning the candle at both ends for some time now, in order to achieve his goal. Adam was not at his best when he was tired. He had also been mainlining coffee in order to stay awake. A bad combination.

_I should have been more careful._

As Don approached the door, something new caught his attention. "Hey. Look at this."

Danny hurried over. The print was faint but the marker was clear to see. "Number one," sighed the CSI. "Then I guess we know what happened."

The taller man nodded. "He went to look for more."

"Okay. That's initiative, I suppose." Danny grinned. "I'm still gonna kill him."

"Stick with the scene," suggested Don. "I'll go find him for you. I'm through here anyway."

"Thanks, buddy. Feel free to smack him upside the head when you find him. 'Cos if you don't, I will."

Don was still chuckling as he left the room.

Halfway down the corridor, he spotted Sanchez. The dark-haired officer was moving from door to door, trying to find someone - _anyone_ - with useful information. Looking up at her colleague as he approached, she gave a wry smile. "I don't think community spirit is rife in this building. We're lucky that someone even bothered to call it in. And I'll bet that tip was anonymous."

"True story," nodded Flack. "Hey - you seen Ross go by?" When she looked puzzled, he continued. "Scruffy hair, little beard, kinda jumpy..."

"Oh - you mean the CSI guy?" The woman's brown eyes crinkled in amusement. "Sure. He went off in the other direction, towards the stairs. Kept muttering to himself, like he had something on his mind. He gave me a smile, though." She raised one eyebrow. "He's kinda cute."

"Really?" Don Flack did a double-take and then decided that this was a line of questioning he really didn't want to pursue. "So - he went that way? Did he make it to the stairs?"

"I didn't see." Sanchez gave up on her current door, which stubbornly refused to open. Heading off to the next one, she called back over her shoulder. "Better go quickly if you want to catch up. That was ten minutes ago."

Don was almost at the exit when he spotted another marker. "Two," it said cheerfully, drawing his attention to a smeared set of fingerprints - as if someone had been running too quickly, over-balanced and reached out to the nearby wall for support. The corridor was almost at an end now. Using his shoulder, Don nudged the door to the stairwell. It opened easily and he stuck his head through. The air was cold and smelled of mildew. _Probably a broken window somewhere,_ thought the detective, liking this apartment block less and less.

Logic sent him jogging downwards. Ten floors later, however, he began to realise that there had been no sign of anybody passing. Doubtfully, he leaned out over the handrail and turned his head in the other direction, peering upwards at the dizzying spiral of stairs.

"You gotta be kidding me," he groaned. "Okay, that does it. Next time, I'm sending Messer - and _I'll_ stay put in the nice cosy crime scene."

Taking a deep breath, he yelled out into the open space. "Adam. Yo, Ross! You up there?"

Nothing.

With a sigh, he turned and began to climb wearily back the way he had come.

At last, two floors up from the crime scene, he found number three. This time, it was a palm print, clearly visible on the metal rail.

Don paused for a moment. His thoughts were moving quickly and he didn't like where they were going.

Up. Why up? In cop shows, sure, and corny action films. But no bad guy in his right mind would ever head upwards when there was a clear route down to the exit.

The detective drew his gun and continued to climb the stairs, much more carefully this time. At every turn, he led with his weapon, clearing the next flight with anxious, darting eyes.

Markers four, five and six took him past the last residential floor. Now there was only the roof left. Flack took another moment to catch his breath. He was a fit man, but the spiralling climb had winded him. Once he felt able to continue, he radioed in his position, then placed his fingers on the handle and slowly opened the door to the rooftop.


	3. Chapter 3

**HIGH STAKES**

**A/N: **Okay, well it's good to know that the suspense is working! I was going to post this out tomorrow, but I felt so bad leaving you all waiting at the door, so to speak, that I changed my mind.

Also, in case you were wondering about the rest of the team, don't worry - they'll have plenty to do as this story progresses.

Time for some action...

**Chapter Three**

The bright sun was trapped behind an ugly bank of clouds, making the day feel far less pleasant. This high up, there was also a nasty little wind, and Don shivered as he stepped through the doorway, still clutching his gun. He thought about calling out, but something stopped him. Instead, he crept forward inch by inch, scanning the area for any sign of the would-be CSI.

It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for.

A flash of yellow caught his eye and he glanced down, only to see the rest of Adam's markers lying in a lonely, muddled heap.

_Not good,_ thought Flack grimly. Adam would never leave them like that on purpose - and suddenly he began to feel terribly afraid for the man.

Immediately to his right was an abandoned workshop, boarded up long ago with half-tarred planks that were starting to rot away. Flack used it as his cover, moving as far as he could across the width of the roof until there was nothing left to hide behind. Just as he was about to turn the corner, he heard a terrified squeal that cut off sharply, leaving a silent after-beat of menace lingering in the air. Gripping his gun even more tightly between his sweating fingers, Don took a deep breath and peered out into the open.

What he saw there horrified him.

Adam was kneeling down in desperate submission, with his hands laced behind his head and a large gun aimed directly between his eyes. On the other end of the gun was a man that Flack could only assume was their suspect.

"Dammit," hissed the detective. This was exactly what he had feared. He was just about to duck back out of sight and consider his options when his phone began to ring inside his pocket, making him jump. _No way, _he thought, dismayed that such a hackneyed cliche had given him away. The armed man turned and stared in his direction. Their eyes met unavoidably and a tiny smile tugged at the stranger's lips.

"Hallo there," he said. "Welcome to the party."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It seemed childish now, but Adam had felt so excited as he followed the bloody trail of prints all the way up the stairs, like clues in a sinister treasure hunt. Not once had he stopped to ask himself exactly where he was going. Trailing an armed suspect up to a lonely rooftop - _whatever were you thinking, Adam Ross? That you were the Caped Crusader? Or perhaps the Man of Steel? Well, you're not. And this isn't a comic book. And now you're going to die._

As soon as he had stepped through the doorway into the open air, the lab rat had sensed his mistake. Inside his head, a little voice screamed at him to turn back - that he hadn't a gun, or even any backup. Adam paused. His logical brain was at war with his stubborn nature, and now he didn't know quite what to do. The puzzle was incomplete, and he needed to solve it. Besides, how could he ever be a proper CSI if he turned and ran for help at the first sign of danger? Deep down, the lab tech guessed that this was what Mac had been hinting at. His boss didn't think that he had the emotional stamina for the job. Adam was determined to prove him wrong - _but not at the cost of your life,_ his brain said, quietly. _Mac would never want that._

Which, in the end, was the answer that he needed. Shamefaced, Adam turned to leave.

But already, it was too late.

From out of nowhere, the man appeared, slamming Adam to the ground and pinning him down before he could even attempt to struggle. Stunned for a moment, Adam felt the world spin around him and his senses reeled with it. When everything finally stopped moving, he found that he was lying flat on his back, with a strange man kneeling on top of him and a gun barrel pointing at his forehead.

Two dark eyes stared down at him sharply.

"Now what in the world are _you_ doing here?" said a mild and curious voice.

Adam searched his foggy mind for something to say that would magically fix this mess he had stumbled into. The words floated round his head in a skittish dance, staying just out of reach, so that he could not even form a coherent sentence. As if to add to his misery, the man's sharp knees dug into Adam's chest with a painful weight that quickly intensified, making it harder and harder to catch his breath. At last, he could stand it no longer.

"Please," he begged hoarsely, forcing the words out in bursts, like a cough. "Get off me. Please... it hurts."

The gun barrel jabbed at his skull and Adam gulped, terrified that he had just signed his own death warrant. But then, to his surprise, the stranger laughed. Rolling nimbly off Adam's chest, he hauled him to his feet with one powerful fist. Adam wobbled, but the man's grip on his shirt was far too tight. And the gun didn't waver for a second.

"Better?" said the man. "Let's try that again. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

_Read the vest, you jerk,_ thought Adam, shaking his head mutely. Now that they were both standing up, he found that the stranger was actually smaller than him - a stocky little man with a typical boxer's build, who shifted his weight from side to side habitually. His accent drifted too, from southern England across to New York and home again, sometimes in mid-sentence. Dark hair crept back from his forehead and dark eyes measured Adam thoughtfully, as though he were a new opponent in a sparring match. The lab rat lowered his head, full of fear, but still refused to speak.

"Need some encouragement?" With a sudden flash of anger, the stranger brought the gun down hard across his cheekbone. The force of the blow knocked Adam off balance - but the sharp pain finally cleared the fog in his mind, and now he saw that this was the only chance he might have to escape. Taking control of his fall, just as Danny had taught him, he managed to twist right out of the other man's grasp. At the same time, he flung his arm out and knocked the gun from his captor's hand, sending it flying through the air. With his other fist, he punched the man, right in the face. The stranger reeled back, holding his nose and cursing through a gushing stream of blood. Free at last, Adam ran, not daring to look behind him.

The route to the door was blocked and so, in the desperate hope that there was another way off the roof, he plunged around the side of a ramshackle workshop. But the roof was much larger than he had realised, and now Adam didn't know which way to go. One faltering second was all it took for the stranger to find him again. Striding round the corner, he laughed at the lab rat's stricken face, as Adam found himself trapped in an open line of fire.

"Hands behind your head," the stranger ordered. Adam had no choice but to comply. The man stepped closer, the bloody mess around his nose and mouth making him seem monstrous. "Down on your knees," he continued. When Adam tried to resist, he simply grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him down. The lab rat gasped as he hit the tar. "Now. Name?" insisted the stranger, as though nothing had ever happened to interrupt their conversation.

"A..Adam," sighed the lab rat, defeated. "What's yours?"

Once again, the man laughed; a low, throaty chuckle that spoke of a serious nicotine habit. "That's a fair exchange, Adam. You can call me Bob."

_One point to me, I guess,_ thought Adam wildly. He stared up at the stranger, still fascinated by the blood all over his face. As if reading his mind, Bob reached up and wiped his fingers through the sticky mess.

"Perhaps I should thank you for that," he said. The next thing Adam knew, a hard fist slammed into his gut. He cried out in pain, but then Bob grabbed his throat and squeezed, hard fingers twisting into his windpipe and cutting off his air supply so that the shriek died away, half-formed and lost in the wind. Bending down, Bob whispered in Adam's ear, and his tone was frightening. "Don't you ever. Do that. Again."

Spots began to blossom in front of Adam's eyes. Carelessly, Bob let go and stood up straight, levelling his gun at the lab rat's head once more.

"Next question," he said. Swallowing desperately, Adam waited - until a shrill noise startled him. It was the sound of a mobile phone, and it couldn't be his, because he knew that he had left it running in silent mode. The lab rat looked up - and there was Detective Flack, with a horrified look upon his face and his service weapon aimed in their direction.

_Welcome to the party..._


	4. Chapter 4

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Four**

Time was passing far too quickly, and neither of his friends had reappeared. Nor were they answering their cell phones. Danny began to feel distinctly edgy. "Time to call it in," he decided, bleakly. He didn't want to get the lab rat into any trouble, but what else could he do?

At that moment, Sanchez stuck her head around the door.

"Hey - you seen Detective Flack? I've done my rounds and I'm headed back to the station."

"Nah," said Danny, "sorry. He's not here."

"Still looking for the CSI guy, huh?" Sanchez frowned. "How'd you come to lose him, anyway?"

"He's kinda new at this. And apparently, much more intrepid than I gave him credit for. You know which way they went?"

"Stairs," said Sanchez briefly. "Both of them. First one, then the other. Never saw either of them after that." She tilted her head quizzically. "You want I should go look for them?"

"No way. The last thing I need is to lose you too." Danny sighed. "Can you stick around, at least 'til the M.E. gets here? 'Cos I think I'm gonna need someone to scrape me off the floor when I've explained this to my boss."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I hope you like games," said the stranger. "This one's all yours. I'm going to call it 'Obedience Training'. How does that sound?"

Flack glared at him in disgust. The situation was rapidly spiralling out of control. Trying to hang on to the illusion that he had any kind of leverage left, the detective aimed his weapon directly at the stranger's heart. But out of the corner of his eye, he could still see Ross shuddering on his knees as he gasped for breath. It didn't take much guesswork to imagine what he'd been through already. After that first, panicked look, the lab rat had lowered his head in shame, consumed by the knowledge that this was all his fault.

_Poor guy,_ thought Flack. The blood around the stranger's nose and mouth intrigued him. Did Adam really do that? A memory sprang into his mind, of another rooftop, and another fight - only, that time, the lab rat had won. Clearly this man was a far more dangerous foe.

"Round one," continued the stranger, ignoring Flack's angry silence. "You give me a present. Your gun. Your badge. Your cell phone and your radio."

"And if I don't?" Flack asked him wearily, though he already knew the answer.

"Then your friend here pays the forfeit. Simple, really." The man gave a feral smile. "Rather like you. Now, what's it to be?"

Don stole another look at Adam. The lab rat was shaking his head imperceptibly - but the detective knew that he had run out of chances. Lowering his gun, he set it down and kicked it across the rooftop, just out of reach. _Go fetch it yourself,_ he thought bitterly. But the man only laughed.

"Feisty," he said. "Still, I wouldn't advise you to try that again. And the rest of my present?"

As slowly as he dared, Don unhooked his badge from around his neck and tossed it over to the stranger, who caught it in mid-air with his free hand. Flipping it open, he studied it casually. "Detective Donald Flack. How do you do, Detective Flack? My name's Bob. I'm sure you're pleased to meet me. Now the radio."

Flack pulled both his cell phone and his radio out of his jacket. With a wrench, he bent down and slid them over to Bob. Instead of picking the phone up, the stranger slammed his foot down on top of it, hard, destroying it instantly. Flack winced. The radio, however, was a different prize. Clearly, Bob intended to hang on to it. _He's going to negotiate, _guessed the detective. But the game wasn't over yet, and Bob stepped closer to Adam.

"Round two," he said quietly. "Find a way to lock the door."

Flack blinked in dismay. "You're joking, right?"

Bob grabbed Adam by the hair and forced his head back until the lab rat's frightened eyes were revealed. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough. Find a way to lock the door, or I'm going to break his nose."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"He did _what?_"

Danny moved the phone away from his ear but it didn't make any difference. Mac's angry voice came through loud and clear. Even Sanchez could hear it, and she gave the detective a sympathetic grin before wandering across to the window and pretending to study the view.

"He left to follow an evidence trail."

"Without telling you first?"

"Look, Mac, don't be too hard on him. I think he was just trying to be more independent. You know, show us all what he can do. The fault's mine, okay? I should have been watching him more closely. Laid down a few ground rules. Locked the door..," sighed Danny, trying to inject some humour into a desperate situation. The joke fell flat, as Mac considered Danny's garbled explanation.

"And you say that Don went after him? How long ago was that?"

"About twenty minutes. They were both seen heading to the stairs. Beyond that, we have no idea where they might be."

Mac's voice was tight with frustration. "I'm coming over. Stay put. And let me know if they come back before I get there."

"Will do, boss."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Slamming the phone down, Mac grabbed his jacket and headed out of his office. Knowing that his instincts had been right didn't make him feel any better. Adam was a gifted lab tech, but far too intelligent for his own good sometimes. Clearly, this was one of those times - and the very thing that Mac had been afraid of. It never ceased to amaze him how someone so brilliant could also be so clueless. And yet...

And yet, deep down, he was fond of the scientist and his quirky ways. The thought that Adam could be in serious trouble began to over-ride his fury. By the time he reached the elevator, Mac had conquered his temper, but his gut was beginning to churn. The doors opened, and Jo stepped out. She smiled at first, but then she stopped and took a good look at his face.

"Trouble?" she guessed. Mac nodded.

"Adam's missing. I sent him out with Danny, and he wandered off on his own. Apparently, Don went after him - and now they've both disappeared."

"Then I'm coming to help you," said Jo, stepping back into the elevator and pulling him with her, as the doors slid shut once more.

"Thanks." Mac wrestled his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, which had suddenly become very uncooperative. The dark-haired woman watched him quietly.

"You're worried," she observed.

Straightening himself out at last, Mac glared at her.

"Of course I am. It's Adam. Anything could have happened."

Jo gave a tiny laugh. "That's true. But, you know, he's not incapable."

"I know that." The elevator reached the ground floor, and they stepped out into the lobby. "He's just..."

"_Adam_," they both sighed, together.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Flack hated turning his back on such a dangerous situation, but Bob was adamant and he left the detective in no doubt that he would carry out his threat. The desire for payback gleamed in his eyes even as the blood dried on his face.

Adam watched him go with some trepidation, not really certain that he was safe whilst Flack was gone. Keeping his head up, he turned to stare at the man who was holding him hostage. "So - what now?" he ventured, forcing the words out through his aching throat.

"Now I take _your_ phone," Bob said, holding out his hand.

"I don't have one," Adam lied, on the spur of the moment. He tried to make his blue eyes look as innocent as possible. Bob frowned, unconvinced.

"That's ridiculous. Everyone has a phone these days. Especially a geek like you."

"Oh... ah, yes, of course I _have_ a phone," the lab tech spluttered, wondering why he was taking such a desperate gamble. "But I left it in my kit, okay, down at the crime scene, so I haven't got it with me..."

"Shall I check?"

"Go ahead," breathed Adam. Bob crouched down once more and used the barrel of his gun to shove Adam's vest to one side.

"Damn - how many pockets do you have?" the man growled angrily.

"I - I need to carry a lot of stuff. I'm sorry." The lab rat winced, feeling oddly violated as Bob's other hand crept in and out of his clothing, searching for proof that Adam was a liar. What he knew, and Bob did not, was that sometimes he kept his phone tucked inside his sock. And today was one of those days. In his eagerness to bring along everything he needed to the crime scene, Adam had stuffed not only his case but also his pockets with all the kit that he could find. As a result, there was no room left for his cell phone - and so into his sock it went. Watching the growing pile of rubble that Bob threw onto the rooftop, Adam resisted a wild urge to smile triumphantly.

"All right. I give in. You do carry too much stuff. And it's all crap." Bob rifled through the pile. "Except for this. I do like this."

_Oh, that's just great,_ thought Adam in disbelief, watching the other man lift up a silver penknife. He flicked out the blade and smiled at it gleefully. Adam shivered. _Couldn't put that one in your case, could you? Had to be in your pocket..._

"Want to play?" asked Bob.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Round the corner, Don was having problems of his own. Full of doubt, he leaned against the wooden planks and wrestled with his conscience.

As far as he could tell, he had two choices and only a couple of minutes to decide. Choice one - do as Bob asked and find a way to block the access door. Choice two (and this one he hated) - call the man's bluff and run for help, back down the stairs to Danny. Clearly, help was what they needed most. But abandoning Ross to that maniac? Don just couldn't stomach it. And so, in the end, his choice was made by his own damn loyalty. He would lock the door, and trust that their friends would find them.

Which led to his next problem. How was he _supposed _to lock the door? No doubt the building super had a key which would reopen it instantly, and the only bolt was on the other side. Would slamming it shut be enough to save Adam? Or should he block it with something too? Would Bob even check that he'd done the job properly?

_Of course he'll check, you idiot,_ Don thought wrily. _He's a perp, and you're a cop. He's not going to trust a single thing you do._

Scouting around for something heavy, he noticed an old cast iron plant pot, full of soil and shrivelled stalks. That looked as though it would just about do the trick and so he dragged it across the roof. It certainly seemed to weigh a ton. Standing up for a moment, he massaged his aching back. Then, making sure the door was firmly closed, he hefted the plant pot in front of it. Nothing short of an axe would get through now. Don shook his head. _I can't believe I just did that._

Too late for regrets. Not wanting to leave Adam alone for one more minute with the suspect, Don ran back across the roof and skidded around the corner.

Bob had been busy in the meantime. Kneeling in front of the lab rat, he was slowly twisting a knife up the length of his shirt. A growing pile of buttons lay beside him. He had almost reached the top, and Adam was sweating.

"You're back," said the man, with cool regret. "What a pity. Your friend and I had a little side bet going. He thought you'd be back before I ran out of buttons. I wasn't so sure. Looks like you've saved his neck..."

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Flack's stomach.

_Right choice,_ he sighed - but then, why did he feel so guilty?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** No cliffhanger this time, but I hope it was still exciting!

Thanks, as always, for reviewing and following this story - you make my day.

Next update coming soon...


	5. Chapter 5

**HIGH STAKES**

**A/N: **Thanks, as always, to the lovely folk who have reviewed and followed this story so far. I'm delighted that you're enjoying it.

**Disclaimer:** (because I haven't done one for a while) Adam Ross - not mine. *Sigh*

**Chapter Five**

On the way to the crime scene, Mac had a hunch and decided to try calling dispatch. He relayed the conversation to Jo, who was driving. "Turns out Flack followed protocol and radioed his position in, not long after leaving Danny. Smart move. He was just about to head onto the roof. They haven't heard from him since."

"Then at least we know where to start looking." Jo tried to stay positive. "Which is a good thing, in a building that size. Mac, don't forget, there may be a simple explanation for all this."

"Really? I'd like to hear it."

She shrugged her shoulders, smiling regretfully. "Okay, well, I can't quite think of one now. But you've got to stay positive, right?"

Wrenching the car into a lucky space, she slammed on the brakes. The medical examiner's van was just ahead of them, and they followed the gurney up to the fourteenth floor, riding the elevator in anxious silence. Danny was waiting for them when they got out, looking even twitchier than usual.

"Still no word," he said. "I'm sorry, boss."

"Not your fault," said Mac. "Let's just find them. Don went up to the roof. Anything else you can tell me?"

"He took the stairs," put in Sanchez. She stood in the apartment doorway, watching them all with serious eyes. "Over there." Shaking her head, she grimaced. "I should have accompanied him. But I didn't know there'd be trouble. I thought he was just following his friend."

"Not your fault either," Jo said, quickly. "No need to look for blame right now. I'll head on up to the roof and check it out. Who wants to come with me?"

"That would be me," Danny offered. "I'm sick of lookin' at the same four walls and worryin' my ass off."

"We'll all go." Mac took control. "The M.E.'s here to deal with the body. Officer..."

"Sanchez," she supplied, helpfully.

"Thank you. Officer Sanchez can stay with them." Glancing around at his team, he sighed. Not one of them was wearing a bullet-proof vest. "And let's play it safe, all right? No heroics. We'll assess the situation and then call for backup if we need it."

_That'll be the day,_ thought Danny, knowing full well that his boss would be the first to break that rule if the need arose.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Round three.

Taking Flack's handcuffs, Bob dragged Adam from his knees and positioned both men in front of him. They walked slowly across the rooftop until he found what he was looking for.

"Escapology," he said, with a crooked smile. A low wall ran around the edge of the roof. Sticking out of it were two iron rungs, remnants of an old fire escape that had long since been condemned, and removed. "Sit over there." He tossed the cuffs to Adam. "One on your wrist. Through the rung. One on his."

"Very original," scoffed Flack. "Scared we'll overpower you? Looks like the science guy took a real good shot at it already." Sarcasm had always been his release valve. Even now, he knew that it was dangerous to rile the man - but he couldn't seem to help himself. Adam stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Yes he did, and look how far it got him." Bob's face darkened. "Now. Sit down."

With trembling fingers, Adam locked them together. The iron rung was rusty and old but the bolts that held it to the wall were screwed down tightly. No way would they be able to pull it free. Which meant that there was only one way out of their predicament.

"Key," said Bob. "Did you think that I'd forgotten?"

"Hoped it," Flack said, shortly. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a tiny key. Snatching it out of his hand, the other man threw it over the wall.

"No!" cried Adam. Flack just glared, and said nothing. Pleased with his joke, Bob smiled and turned away. Striding back across the rooftop, he went to check the detective's handiwork.

"How're you holdin' up?" Flack whispered, staring across at the lab rat.

Adam gazed back, startled. "Are you kidding me? Detective Flack, I'm so sorry. You shouldn't be here. This is all my fault..."

"Yeah, 'cos you murdered that guy, right? And then forced our new best friend to take us hostage. Adam. This is not your fault." He watched the lab rat shrug and knew that he hadn't come close to convincing him. "Okay. Well, never mind that for now. What are we going to do?"

"Y-you're asking me?"

"Sure I'm asking you. Aren't you the one with the brains? That's what Mac always says."

"He - what?"

Flack waited patiently for Adam to recover. "You're brains. I'm brawn. Now, let's put our heads together and see what we can come up with."

Taking a deep breath, Adam smiled and Flack could swear he saw a hint of pride at last. "Well... I guess there is one thing I can do. How would you like to call Mac?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The CSIs were halfway to the roof when Mac's phone rang. Irritated, he clawed it out of his pocket - but then he saw the caller ID and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Who is it?" asked Danny.

"It's Adam," said his boss, in disbelief.

"I told you," cried Jo. "They must be all right." The two men looked unconvinced. Lifting the phone to his ear, Mac spoke into it quietly.

"Adam. You okay?"

"Ah - not really, boss." His voice was a whisper, so Mac shook his head for the benefit of the other two who were trying to listen as well. "I'm here with Flack. We're... I kind of got us into trouble..."

"Gimme the phone," said a second voice, exasperated, and suddenly Flack was on the other end. "Mac. That you? We're on the roof, and we're handcuffed together, through an iron rung. The suspect is up here. He made me block the door."

"So we can't get through? We're on the stairs right now, Don. What does he want?"

"He hasn't said. But he's got my radio, and I think he plans to use it - probably to call PD and negotiate his way out of this mess. Be careful, Mac. He's dangerous. And far too cool. I think he's hiding some serious anger issues."

"Are you hurt?" asked Mac.

"No. But Ross here's looking a little worse for wear."

"I'm fine," protested Adam, over his shoulder. "Flack - hurry up. He'll be back any minute. I told him I didn't have a phone. If he finds out I lied..."

"Then listen to me quickly," said Mac. "Do you have a camera? Can you take a picture - _any_ picture - that will help us to see where you are?"

"Can't promise anything," hissed Flack. "We'll do our best. He's coming..."

And the phone went dead.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'll do it," whispered Adam.

"Are you sure?"

The phone was tucked into the lab rat's sleeve by now. Bob was pacing nearby, as though uncertain how to proceed. He glanced at them from time to time, but didn't seem to care what they were talking about. "It's the best chance we have," sighed Adam. "And I know how to work it."

"Are you saying I don't?"

"No... I just... it's my phone, you know, so it's instinct..." the lab rat mumbled - until he saw the look on Flack's face and had to grin. "Okay," he said, "not really the best time to try and wind me up."

Don smirked. "I'm relieving the tension."

Adam's incredulous face was his only reply. Turning away from Flack, he began to slide the device back out into his palm. He kept one eye on Bob, as he eased it open and keyed the camera function. "Not much battery left," he whispered. "Better make this good." Stealthily, he caught Bob in the screen and pressed the button. The tiny whirring noise made him jump, but the wind was still strong out there on the rooftop, and it snatched the sound away before the other man could hear it.

"Got him," nodded Flack. "Now send it. Quickly."

Working as fast as he could, Adam pressed the buttons that would redirect the picture to Mac's cell phone, on the other side of the door. Just as he entered the last command, he heard Flack give a sharp intake of breath. He did not need to look up to know what he would see.

"So you _are_ a liar," sneered Bob, as he yanked the phone from Adam's grasp.


	6. Chapter 6

**HIGH STAKES**

**A/N: **The naughty cliffhanger lady says sorry and she is posting up her next chapter a day early to appease you all, because your reviews have been so kind! In fact, it'll be a chapter a day for this whole weekend, so enjoy.

**Chapter Six**

"Mac Taylor?" said Bob, looking at the name on the screen. "That your boss? I guess he's the man to talk to, right?"

Adam stared up in dismay. Had the picture gone? He couldn't tell. _I'm in such deep trouble_, he thought, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Flack laid his free hand on the lab rat's arm, trying to calm him down.

"Listen," he said to Bob, "this was my idea. Don't take it out on him."

"What?" Adam turned round, aghast. "But that's ridiculous."

"Will you two just shut up!" Bob snapped. He changed his voice to a whine, and mocked them both. "_It's my fault - no, it's my fault. I'm so noble, let the nasty man hurt me..._ God, you make me sick."

"Then the feeling's mutual," Flack muttered under his breath. Bob glared at him and threw the cell phone back at Adam. "Mac Taylor. Get him for me. I want to talk to him."

"Th-the battery's dying," Adam protested, trying to stall for time as he glanced down at the screen to find out what had happened. _Message sent,_ said the two sweetest words he'd ever seen. Flack squeezed his arm. He had read it too.

"And when it does, I'll use the radio instead. I'm sure the police will be eager to help me out - won't they, Detective Flack? Now do as I say. Or do you want to pay another forfeit? Seems I owe you a broken nose after all... and I'm beginning to look forward to it."

"Okay, okay... I'll do it." Secretly, Adam was happy to call his boss. If anyone could get them out of this, then Mac was the man. In Adam's eyes, he _was_ a superhero. _The Enforcer... Or perhaps, the Grim Defender..._

Bringing up speed dial, he pressed Mac's name and then handed the phone back to Bob. _Good luck, _he thought sarcastically. _Hope my boss eats you for breakfast._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"That's him? He doesn't look like much." Danny leaned in and peered at the photo. "What's that all over his face?"

"It's blood," said Jo, unable to suppress a grin.

"Guess Flack got a look in before he was captured, then."

"Or maybe Adam?" she retorted. Danny shrugged.

"Hey - I've been giving him lessons, but do you really think..."

The unmistakeable ring of Mac's cell phone cut him off mid-sentence. Mac glared at them both, and answered it. "Adam? Well done. We got the picture."

"That's lovely for you, but I'm afraid this isn't Adam," said a calm voice in his ear.

The detective stiffened. "What have you done with him?"

"Nothing. Yet. What happens next is really up to you."

Mac's jaw tightened. He keyed his phone onto speaker so that the other two could hear his conversation. At this point, every nuance counted, and three sets of ears were definitely better than one. "Who am I talking to?" he asked, grimly.

"Call me Bob. And can I assume that you are Adam's superior?"

"I'm the head of the New York Crime Lab," growled Mac, in a tone that clearly said _don't mess with me._

"Perfect," said Bob. "Then, from now on, I'll be talking to you. I don't want anyone else to interfere."

"Don't worry, they won't." _Because if you hurt them, I can promise you that you're mine - and you'll be sorry._ Narrowing his eyes, Mac gripped the phone so hard that his knuckles turned white. "What is it you want from me, Bob?"

"Actually, I only have one demand," the voice said smoothly. Mac waited, his breath suspended in his throat. Danny and Jo kept silent, wary of giving away their presence. "Bring me my daughter. Up to the roof. Once I hear her voice through the door, I'll let your men go free."

The CSIs exchanged a puzzled look.

"Your daughter? What do you mean?" asked Mac. "Can't you just call her yourself?"

But even as he spoke, the connection was broken.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Damn useless piece of crap," Bob cursed, flinging the exhausted phone away from him in a rage. It skittered across the roof before coming to a rest near the tumbledown workshop. Ignoring its progress, Bob swung round and turned on Adam.

"What picture did you send?"

"'Scuse me?" squeaked the lab rat.

"You heard me. A picture. What did you send him?"

"Actually," Flack cut in, "it was a lovely portrait of you. Quite a good angle, I thought. Nice and clear."

"_Shut up!_" hissed Adam. He could see the angry dints in the other man's nostrils, and the tightening of his mouth. Something bad was coming - but Flack was on a roll.

"You know what Mac'll do? He'll take that to the lab, and before you know it, he'll have identified you. He'll know every little detail about your life - all the dirt, and the secrets, and the monsters in the closet you thought you'd locked away for ever..."

"Good," growled Bob. "That's exactly what I want him to do. So you can quit it with the smug remarks, detective. You have no idea what's going on here."

"Enlighten me," said Flack.

In reply, Bob bent down next to Adam and drew out the silver penknife. "Not really your business," he said, flicking the blade out and holding it dangerously close to the lab rat's neck. Adam twitched, but did not cry out. His eyes held on to Don's, as though he were drawing strength from the other man. Don tried not to look away. "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't ask me any more. You may regret it."

With two deft slices, he left a shallow mark on Adam's neck, like a signature. _Mine,_ said the cross. "That's my promise," Bob whispered into his ear. "For later. So you won't forget. Because I won't. No matter what your boss does next, you belong to me." The lab rat gasped, and clapped his free hand across the wound. Blood trickled through his fingers. Unconcerned, Bob stood up and walked away. The two men watched him go, full of foreboding. A chill breeze followed him, stirring up the dust behind his heels.


	7. Chapter 7

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Seven**

Mac closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. Things had definitely taken a turn for the worse. He hated hostage negotiations with a passion. They were so intense, and so full of deception. Every move was like a chess game, except that the smallest error could cost someone's life. And this time, those lives belonged to Don and Adam.

"Mac. Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes again, only to find Jo staring at him with that penetrating gaze of hers. Damn - he would swear she could see right into his head.

"I'm fine." He raised himself up from the wall and squared his shoulders. Time for action. "Jo, I'm going to need you back at the lab." He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. "Look, I know you want to stay here in case something happens. But we have to get started on the evidence. Get Sheldon and Lindsay to run through it with you - everything that Danny already collected. And lift the prints that Adam flagged before you go. Find out who our suspect is. That's the real key. We can't begin to deal with his demand until we know."

"I understand." Jo sighed. "You keep in touch, Mac Taylor. I want to know every detail, as it happens."

"And I want the same from you. Including Sid's initial report on the body. I'm going to keep Danny here with me." He glanced down at the detective, who was sitting on the stairs by now, clutching his head in frustration. "It's probably the best place for him. There's more to find at that crime scene, and it'll keep him occupied. Besides, I need an full account of exactly what went down."

"Are you going to call Sinclair?"

Mac grimaced. "Jo - I have to."

"Then get ready for the circus," she warned him, as she turned to head downstairs for her kit. "And don't let him take control away from you. It could be fatal."

He shook his head. "Work fast. I don't know how much time we have to resolve this. I'll try to get back in touch with this 'Bob', but I need some ammunition. Find me his daughter."

"You know I will." Reaching back, she laid her hand on his arm in reassurance. "Hey now - don't worry. Compared to the usual crazy demands, how hard can this one be?"

_Famous last words,_ thought Mac, watching her disappear around the corner.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You believe in luck, Ross?" Flack glanced up at the rainclouds which were massing overhead.

"What? I... I'm not sure." The lab rat continued to clutch at the swollen cross. He seemed distracted, and that was worrying Flack. "I did do an experiment at school. With dice rolls, and chance, and numbers... That was fun... Like Vegas in the classroom. Think I'd be good in Vegas..."

"I thought today was gonna be a lucky day. Bought a lotto ticket and everything." He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it. "But hey, what do I know?"

"Maybe I broke your luck," said Adam in a small voice.

_Okay. That's enough_, thought Don. He shoved the ticket back into his pocket. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned and looked at Adam properly. His face was white - except for the startling bruise across his cheekbone - and his hands were shaking. All in all, he didn't look good.

"Sorry, man," said Flack. "I didn't mean to bring you down. How's your neck?"

"Wh-what?" repeated Adam. He peeled his fingers away, staring blankly at the sticky red mess which coated them. Was that his blood, or Bob's? He couldn't remember. Suddenly, it filled him with revulsion, and he began to scrub his hand with the edge of his damaged shirt, harder and harder, frowning as he did so.

"Hey. Hey, man. Adam! Stop that." Flack reached out and stilled the lab rat's frantic motions. "It's okay."

"No. No, it's not." There was desperation in Adam's face, as he stared past Flack, unable to look at him. "I feel so bad."

_Time to play the trump card_. "Then let me change our luck," whispered Don.

That did the trick. Bemused, the lab rat's blue eyes slid back into focus. He stared at the other man. "What are you talking about?"

Flack reached into his pocket and brought out a small, silver key.

Adam blinked. "Is that...?"

"The handcuff key," grinned Don, with just a little touch of smugness. "You didn't think I let him take the real one, did you? You're not the only devious one on this roof."

"Then what did he...?"

"Throw over the edge? That would be my locker key." Flack winced. "Looks like I'll have to break in to get my stuff when this is all over."

Adam snorted with laughter - and then stopped, surprised at himself.

"See?" said Flack. "Things are never so bad if you can laugh at them."

"Hey! Not fair. I thought you were the one being gloomy."

Flack looked angelic. "That's not how I remember it."

Slipping the key back out of sight, he smiled at the lab rat's indignant expression. "All we have to do," he said, "is wait for the opportune moment. Let Mac distract our friend over there. Then we undo the handcuffs and escape."

"You make it sound simple," said Adam warily.

"I do, don't I?" They stared at each other, each one trying to guess the other man's thoughts.

That was the moment when Bob came back. Somewhere, he had found a puddle of water and washed the red gore from his face. It made him look cleaner, but not more appealing. He narrowed his eyes and looked at them both suspiciously. "What are you up to?"

"I'm sorry - what on earth _could_ we be doing?" said Flack in his sweetest, most irritating tone. "You've chained the pair of us up to a wall, on top of a freezing roof."

"Then make yourself useful." Bob dropped the radio into his lap. "I want Taylor back. Now. Show me how to work that thing."

"Why? Don't you have a cell phone?" ventured Adam, staring up at him. Don's revelation had made him feel a little bolder. "I thought everybody did..."

Bob kicked him viciously in the shin, but did not dignify his remark with a response.

Grinning at the lab rat, Flack picked up the radio and opened a channel. He'd been bouncing the problem around in his head for a while, and had finally come up with a far more practical solution than trying to get dispatch to contact Mac's phone. _Two for the jock,_ he thought. "Control, this is Flack. Don't ask any questions. Just put me through to Officer Sanchez, asap..."


	8. Chapter 8

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Eight**

Etta Sanchez watched as the M.E.'s assistant zipped up the body bag. No one could say that her own job was boring, but theirs was truly gross. "Have fun," she quipped. The young man grinned back cheekily and wheeled the victim feet first out of his own front door.

Now Sanchez was alone, but not for long. Messer and his boss came hurrying back down the corridor, their anxious footsteps heralding their return. "You find anything?" She looked past them - but there was no sign of Detective Flack or the funny little CSI guy. That wasn't good. Neither was the expression on Taylor's face.

"They're on the roof," he told her shortly. "With the suspect."

"With the..? Oh, that's just great." Now she could see why he looked so grim. "How do you know this?"

"We spoke to them," said Messer. "And the man who's holding them hostage. But I think Adam's phone must've died, or something, 'cos no one's called back since then."

"Are they okay?" Detective Flack was popular at the precinct, and Sanchez hated to think that anything bad could happen to him. As for the other man, well, she didn't really know him at all. But his smile was charming, and he had a peculiar wistful quality... Sanchez closed her mind to the awful possibilities. "Don't answer that. Just tell me what I can do."

Taylor considered the question but, before he could reply, the officer's radio came to life. When they heard the voice on the other end, all three of them looked stunned. Without even asking, Mac snatched the device from her hand.

"Don?"

"Mac! Okay, that worked even better than I thought. I was just hopin' Sanchez might have stuck around."

"I asked her to. She's keeping an eye on the crime scene. Where are you?"

Unfortunately, the next voice that spoke was not Detective Flack.

"He's here with me, of course. And proving very useful, I might add. Although I don't like his attitude much. Insufferably cocky - don't you agree? You seem much more level headed. I think I'm going to like dealing with you, Mac Taylor."

"What about Adam?"

"Who? The science geek? Oh, I threw him off the building five minutes ago. You should find him in the alley - most of him, anyway." There was a horrified silence. Then Bob started laughing. "Just my little joke. He's far too useful for that. Well, just now, at any rate. No telling what I might do to him later. Or Detective Flack, for that matter. You called him Don. He your friend?"

"None of your business."

"Think I'll take that as a 'yes'. So. Double the stress for you, then. Have you considered my demand?"

"We need more information first." Mac tried to stay calm, but it was difficult. "What's your daughter's name? How old is she?"

"No," said Bob, and his voice was suddenly sharp. "That's your first test. I need to know that you're serious. Come back to me in an hour and tell me that information yourself. If you can do that, I'll know you can bring her to me - and _then_ I'll tell you more. If you can't... Well, I've been promising your crime lab geek a broken nose all morning. And I always keep my promises. How about you?"

"You sonofa..." So many angry words built up in Mac's throat that they almost strangled him. Bob just laughed again, and broke the connection.

"This is insane," said Danny, throwing up his arms in disbelief. "We should just smash through the door and take them back. We could have 'em downstairs in five minutes flat, Mac, I'm tellin' you."

"Or we could get them killed," said Mac. "We've no idea how dangerous this 'Bob' is."

"Then you need to find out." Sanchez spoke quietly, trying to ease the tension between the two men. "Who_ is _he? Does anyone know?"

Mac clenched his fists and looked her square in the face.

"My team will find out," he said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lindsay frowned at the scanty pile of evidence laid out in front of them.

"Danny must have been distracted," she said, dubiously.

"No." Jo shook her head. "It just happened so fast. One minute, Adam was there and the next, he was gone. Danny gathered what he could at the time, but there's more to come."

"Then let's get started." Practical as ever, Sheldon Hawkes reached out and took the i-phone. "I'll run with this. See what information I can get from it - call history, recent contacts... Even his browser history might give us something."

"Okay." Lindsay laid her gloved hand on John Street's jacket. "Then I'll take the clothes." Feeling a lump in his pocket, she pulled a face. "Wait - there's something in here." She reached inside and felt around with her fingers. "Sheldon, it's another cell phone. Why would he have two?"

As she placed her find on the light table, Sheldon returned its companion. The three of them stared at the phones, sitting side by side.

"I have two," suggested Jo. "One for home and one for work. Helps me to stay organised." When Lindsay turned to stare at her, a suspicious twitch in the corner of her mouth, the older woman laughed. "Okay - _more_ organised. I know my flaws, and I'm not proud of them."

"There's another theory," Sheldon mused, tuning out the friendly banter. "What if one of these cell phones doesn't belong to our vic?"

"You mean the suspect?" Jo was dubious. "That's awfully careless of him. In fact," she continued, thinking aloud, "he seems to be making rather a lot of mistakes. Running up, not down - and leaving valuable evidence at the crime scene? Cell phones, and a trail of bloody prints? Either he's hopelessly incompetent, or..."

"Or he did it on purpose?" Shaking her head, Lindsay pulled a face. "I can't see why. What would he stand to gain?"

"Exactly what he _has_ gained," said Sheldon slowly. "A team of CSIs to do his bidding..."

"But that's insane. He could get himself killed. Why take the risk?"

The doctor picked up both phones. "I guess, right now, there's only one way to find out."

Jo nodded. "Follow the evidence."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** Short, but necessary. Don't worry - there's plenty of action to come (I know because I've just written it!). So I'll post again tomorrow, to keep things rolling.

Phones. Isn't it funny that, now we carry them around so much, you have to consider them all the time when you're writing a story? They're almost like another character that you have to keep an eye on! So I thought I'd make more use of them and twist them into the plot. As for the radio, I don't know if I got all the protocol right, but I'm just a rookie, so please forgive any mistakes - I tried to be logical.

Thanks for the reviews and follows, as always. I'm really enjoying checking out some of your stories in return - they're amazing!


	9. Chapter 9

**HIGH STAKES**

**A/N: **Thanks for the lovely weekend reviews and follows. I'm so glad to know that people are still enjoying this. Your comments keep me going!

**Chapter Nine**

Rain was falling on the rooftop, soft and nasty, like a sinking mist. Adam felt as though he were being bound inside a cloud. Ghostly fingers stroked his face and ghostly whispers promised numb forgetfulness. The feeling made his flesh begin to crawl, and so he did what he always seemed to do when he was nervous. He tuned out the horror movie playing in his head and started talking.

"Detective Flack? You hungry? I know I am, okay, 'cos I had my breakfast at, like, four o' clock this morning. What time do you start work? You always seem to be around - in fact, I sometimes wonder if you go to bed at all, or if you're like this superhuman being that doesn't need sleep..."

"Hey, Ross? You're rambling."

He chewed his lip, embarrassed. "Yeah. I know. But I really am hungry."

"Didn't you bring any food in those pockets of yours?"

"Oh, sure. A Snickers bar. Always be prepared, right? It's sitting in that little heap over there..." Adam pointed forlornly. Flack sighed.

"I'm sorry. And I know why you're talking. Helps to pass the time, right?"

"Something like that." The lab rat sounded doubtful, but did not elaborate. Absently, he fingered the swollen mark on his neck and winced. _Bet Detective Flack's not scared by a little bit of rain. You're such a wuss._

"You must be frozen." Flack looked down at his companion. The lab rat's short-sleeved shirt hung open since Bob had cut off most of the buttons, revealing nothing more than a thin grey t-shirt underneath. His vest was sleeveless too, and his arms were soaking wet. Droplets fell from the twisted collection of leather and beads on one wrist. On the other, an angry, bruised circle was beginning to form beneath the metal cuff. Sliding his eyes across, Flack saw the same mark on his own wrist. He had been twisting his arm to get free, even though there was really no need, since he still had the key in his pocket. _Maybe it's my superhuman instinct..._

"Oh, hey, no, I'm fine." Adam's lie was obvious, but Flack chose to ignore it. Give the man some credit - he was trying to stay upbeat.

Eager for distraction, the lab rat tried again.

"Detective Flack? Does it feel like an hour to you?"

"More like twenty minutes." Flack smiled at him kindly. "Your sense of time sucks, Ross. Guess you don't know everything."

"Oh, no - there's lots of things I'm bad at." Adam swiped a raindrop from the end of his nose. "Knowing how to talk to people. Knowing when to stop..." He gave the detective a wary, sideways grin and lifted one eyebrow. "Makin' jokes...?"

"You can say that again." Flack played along. "Although I think _his_ jokes are ten times worse than yours."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Flack wished that he could claw them back again. _Turns out I suck at conversation too._ Adam stared across at Bob, who was sitting on the low wall, farther round the rooftop, gazing at the city through the heartless rain. The lab rat's eyes grew wide.

"You really think he'd do that?"

"Do what?" countered Flack, though he knew all too well what the lab rat was asking him.

"Throw us... me... off..." Adam could barely bring himself to say it.

"'Course not. Far as he's concerned, he doesn't even have the key to these cuffs." Logic, not always Flack's best friend, came to his rescue in the nick of time. Adam looked relieved.

"Oh. Yeah. That's so stupid of me. Thanks, Detective."

"You know what?" Flack sighed. "We've been chained up here a while now. I think you can call me Don."

Adam's answering smile made them both feel just a little bit warmer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sid Hammerback was one of Jo's favourite people. He might work in a place that smelled of death and chemicals, but to someone who would always be a profiler at heart, he was a source of endless fascination - from his remarkable glasses to his weird conversational segues. More than that, however, he was warm and full of compassion. He had the typical - and necessary - M.E.'s ability to distance himself from his subjects. But that did not mean that Jo had mistaken the look in his heavy-lidded eyes on those occasions when the bodies struck too close to home. Young girls, in particular, made him pause. That much she understood herself, because of Ellie. In their line of work, having children was a comfort, but it could also make you afraid. Very afraid.

"How're you doing, Sid?" she said lightly, rousing herself as she walked into the room. The Medical Examiner looked up, and he was clearly pleased to see her.

"Jo! Any news?" Those were his first words, just as she had known they would be.

"That depends on what you've heard already." Jo wasn't sure just how much of the situation had filtered through from the crime lab, or travelled back with the body.

"I know that Detective Flack and Adam are in trouble. Held hostage - on a rooftop? And that this man is involved somehow." Sid gestured to the body on the table. John Street looked pale and innocent in death, but Jo really hoped that he was hiding something useful.

She sighed, and Sid peered into her face.

"You're scared for them," he said. It wasn't a question, but Jo nodded anyway.

"We know they're alive. We've heard their voices. And Don says they're both okay. But, Sid, I'm so worried. We don't have much time. So I need to know what you've got already - as much as you can tell me."

The doctor looked hesitant. Turning back to the body, he shook his head slightly and repositioned his glasses. "Unfortunately, very little. It was a clean shoot, close quarters, straight through the left ventricle. No bullet in his body, and no signs of a struggle. Clearly, he wasn't frightened for his life."

"That doesn't really help us, Sid."

"I know." His voice was troubled. "There's just one other thing, I'm afraid, and it's probably not that important. An excessive amount of spice upon his skin, and in his hair of all places. I've taken samples so you can identify the blend. Was he cooking at the time?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, I tell you, ever since I did my initial examination, I've had a craving for Kung Pao chicken. Make of that what you will."

"I think your stomach's trying to tell you something." Jo managed a smile as she picked up the evidence, but it was dimmer than usual. "Lindsay's checking the clothes right now. I'd better find out if she's having weird cravings too."

Sid nodded. "Jo," he said nervously, as she left. "Keep in touch. Don't forget about us. They... they're my friends too."

"Of course, Sid." She came back over to him and squeezed his arm for a moment. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you out of the loop. You know that. We're a team."

"Okay. Okay, thank you."

Satisfied, the doctor followed her out of the room with his eyes and then turned back to work. There simply had to be more to find, and he wouldn't rest until John Street had given up all his secrets.


	10. Chapter 10

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Ten**

"Kung Pao chicken?" Lindsay laughed. "Trust a former chef. But yes - that's right. I found the same trace on his clothes. It was all across his back, beneath the blood. So I doubt that he was cooking, unless he's unbelievably clumsy or has a very strange technique."

Jo frowned at the woman. "Maybe he works in a Chinese restaurant?"

"Dressed like that?" Lindsay gestured at the faded jacket. It was made of good material, and had clearly seen better days. The nasty green had probably been quite pleasant, once upon a time.

"Point taken. Anything else?"

There was a little pile of paper and fluff sitting on the light table beside the jacket. Lindsay reached out and snagged a tiny note, folded over and over. She laid it in Jo's palm and watched her nimble fingers unwrap the message hidden inside.

"What _is_ that?" Jo wrinkled her nose.

"I don't know - but I don't like it. I found it in his pocket." Lindsay shook her head. "It reminds me of Treasure Island. You remember? The pirates, and the black spot. There's something very sinister going on here. It gives me the creeps."

Both women stared at the piece of paper. It was about the size of a post-it note and worn thin from constant folding and unfolding. Scratched across the centre in what looked like human blood was an angry cross.

_Death_, said the mark, without a single word.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Danny had finished packing up John Street's computer for transportation. Wandering back to the kitchen, he came across Mac, red-faced and staring at his cell phone as though he would like to pitch it out of the window.

"Let me guess. Sinclair?" said the CSI, with sympathy.

"What tipped you off?" Mac shook his head wearily. "Looks like the snipers are on their way. And the squad cars. And the whole damn media circus..."

"You don't think Bob's gonna like that? Maybe publicity is exactly what he wants."

"_I _don't like that. The media are a liability. And the spin they put on this might well hurt Adam, or the lab."

"What do you mean?" Danny stared at his boss in consternation. "The killer's at fault here, not Adam."

Mac opened his mouth as though he were about to say something. Then he closed it again, and smiled grimly. "Of course," he said. "You're right. I'd better go down and greet them. You keep at it in here. The hour is nearly up, and we don't have much to go on. I only hope Jo has something for us. If not..." He let Danny's imagination finish the ominous sentence. He could not bear to say the words himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Don," whispered Adam. "Please. Is it time yet?"

The detective sighed. He was beginning to feel like a parent on a long trip with his kid. Adam had been nudging him every five minutes for the last half hour, each time growing more agitated. The wound on his neck had puffed up into a nasty red welt, and he rubbed at it constantly. "Hey. Leave that alone," said Don, swatting his hand away.

"Can't help it," Adam breathed. He clenched his fists. "Why don't we go now? He's been over there for ages."

Don considered. Maybe the lab tech had a point after all. This could be the best chance they had to get away. Bob was peering over the wall, distracted. He seemed to be watching something - which meant that he wasn't watching _them_.

"You're right. We'll do it." Don stared at his companion. "Sure you'll manage? You look a little peaky."

Adam giggled, light-headed with relief. "That's an understatement. But thanks for the concern. I'll manage. I have to. If we wait here any longer, I think I'll freeze to the spot."

The rain had died away, but the two men still felt its after-effects. Their clothes were damp and their hair was wringing wet. Every now and then, little tremors ran down Adam's bare arms - unnecessary reminders of how cold he had become.

Keeping a close eye on Bob, the detective slipped the key out of his pocket. "Keep your arm up," he warned. "Don't let on until the last minute. He may turn around, and we don't want him after us at any cost."

"No, we don't," Adam nodded fervently, gazing at Don with absolute trust. The detective began to feel nervous.

"Adam - look, if this goes wrong..."

"It won't go wrong." The lab rat shook his wrist. "Come on. Let's do it."

One at a time, first Adam's, then his, the detective unhooked the cuffs. He caught them quietly and laid them on the rooftop. "Ready?" he hissed. "Let's go!"

Both men leapt to their feet. At the same time, an all too familiar noise cut through the air. The wail of sirens, shrieking to a halt beside the building, far below.

"Oh, God!" cried Adam, as Bob turned round to check on them.

For one awful second, nobody moved. Then Flack grabbed Adam's arm and pulled, almost yanking it out of its socket.

The two men ran.

"So... sorry... my... fault...too... soon..." gasped Adam, as they plunged around the corner and headed for the door.

"Shut up!" snapped Don, still holding on tightly. No way was he letting the other man fall behind. Neither of them looked back - they couldn't bear to. The fear was almost overwhelming, and their legs moved mechanically, so fast that Adam began to think he would lose control altogether.

The shot came later than they expected.

Don had nearly reached their goal, swinging Adam wildly out to the side so that the little man wouldn't crash into him when he stopped. It was that which saved the lab rat, in the end.

To his absolute horror, Adam saw Don fall. A single cry was all he gave, before his head connected with the plant pot. The lab rat dropped to his knees. He didn't care about the door any more, or even about the killer right behind him. He had to know if Don was still alive. Reaching out, he felt for the detective's pulse with trembling fingers. Don groaned - a welcome sound, but Adam was still terrified. Blood was already seeping from the detective's leg, where the bullet had ploughed into him. Adam swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat - and then looked up.

"Hello," said Bob.

A heavy fist smashed into Adam's face, right between his eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Eleven**

When Adam was a child, and in pain, he used to occupy his mind by creating a sliding scale of blows - rather like the Richter Scale, but with fists colliding instead of tectonic plates. Lowest on the scale was number one - a sharp, admonishing slap; the tremor that came before the full scale disaster. Midway were the fives and sixes - punches to the stomach or the ribs. Easy to hide, but uncomfortable for days.

Bob's blow measured a perfect ten on the scale.

Only once in his life had Adam experienced pain that came anywhere near it. And that time he had ended up in hospital with a broken collarbone. Three weeks later, the family had moved to a different town.

Up on the rooftop, Adam drifted, not quite unconscious, but strangely at peace with what was going on around him. For a while, he was content to stay like this. His eyes were open, but the world was hazy. Someone had hold of his ankles, dragging him roughly across the roof. Adam was powerless to stop them, and he didn't even care. Light spun into darkness and the air grew drier - musty, even. A sharp, unpleasant smell clawed at the back of his throat. It was this that finally shocked him from his stupor. Retching, he lifted a heavy hand to his mouth, and rolled onto his side.

The pain in his head rolled with him and he gasped as it slid through his head like a block of concrete. The bridge of his nose was on fire, and his eyes were slits in a puffy mass of flesh. His fingers tried to probe the area but he snatched them away again, hissing abruptly, as the pain intensified.

_He kept his promise, then,_ thought Adam, wondering just how bad he looked. A moment later, guilt overwhelmed him. _Detective Flack,_ he realised. _How could I forget?_ What was a broken nose, compared to a gunshot wound?

Holding onto his forehead in the vain hope that he could push back the growing headache, Adam sat up.

The nausea was so bad that he almost passed out completely. Yet still, unconsciousness refused to claim him and Adam was forced to deal with his situation.

Darkness surrounded him. At first, he was confused. Exactly how long had he been drifting? Had the whole day passed away? How could that be?

_Don't be an idiot, Adam,_ he told himself harshly. _You've got five senses, not one. Stop wasting time and use them all._ Sight. Not working well, but now he could see the tiny chinks of light that filtered through the gloom. Smell. The scent of rotting wood, and age old sawdust. Taste. Acrid and biting, something nasty in the air. Sound. A gentle cooing, absurdly out of place. And touch. A rough wooden floor, encrusted with something he wished he hadn't just identified.

_Oh, great. I'm lying in bird crap._

Adam reached out with shaking hands, testing the space all around him. Surely Bob would have dumped the detective nearby? Forcing his eyes to open wider, the lab tech peered through the gloom. As he grew more accustomed to it, the little world around him became clearer until, at last, he spotted a dark shape huddled awkwardly against an abandoned tool bench.

They were in the tumbledown workshop.

And Flack was still alive.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sheldon gave a whoop of triumph, startling Jo, who was just about to enter the AV lab and check on his progress. "Oh, honey, please tell me you found something," she begged him, hurrying to his side.

"I certainly did." The doctor gave her a dazzling smile and gestured to the screen. "Here's the owner of our i-phone. Meet Robert Finn, aged forty two; a former UK resident who's been living in New York for the past ten years. Fingerprints from the crime scene confirm it too. He's listed with immigration."

"That's him alright." Jo sighed with relief. "A perfect match to the photo that Adam took with his cell phone - minus the bloody nose, of course."

Sheldon grinned. "I heard about that. Good to know that Don got in a couple of swings of his own."

Placing her hands on her hips, Jo frowned at the man. "You know what? I think I'd like to start a pool and put all my money on Adam. Why does everyone assume that it was Don?"

"Are you kidding? Adam?" Sheldon shook his head. "I mean, I love the guy, but he's not exactly the Ultimate Fighting Champion."

"Suit yourself," sniffed Jo, but her eyes were bright with humour. Leaning in, she studied Bob's details. "What about his family? Mac said we need the daughter's name and age before anything else."

"Take a look at his phone." Contacts scrolled by at blinding speed until finally Sheldon's finger hovered over the photograph of a dark-haired teenage girl. She glared out of the screen with gutsy charm.

"I know that expression," Jo quipped. "Ellie gets it, every night, when I tell her it's time for bed."

"Then she's all yours." Sheldon passed the i-phone to his colleague. "Jo Danville, meet Isla Finn. Fifteen years old, as of three days ago, and Robert Finn's only daughter."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Don," croaked Adam, crawling across the floor on his hands and knees. A steady drum beat was playing in his head by now, but he blocked it out by focussing upon the only thing that mattered. "Detective Flack. Are you okay? Please answer me."

"Go 'way," the dark shape muttered. As Adam drew nearer, Don's features became less blurry, resolving themselves into an expression of stubborn denial. His face was pale, and his eyes were closed - but he was awake, and the lab rat felt a surge of relief that swept through his whole body, leaving him shaking.

"No, detective, I... I can't do that. I need to see what's happened to you."

"M'fine," Don grunted. Adam could tell that this wasn't going to be easy. "Leg cramp is all. Bin sittin' down too long. Jus' help me up."

"Detective Flack." The lab rat reached his side at last and laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "You have to stay put. We... we're in trouble. And you've been shot."

"Bull..."

The exclamation burst out of him, choked with pain, but still Don refused to admit that anything was wrong. Peering at his chalk-white face, Adam made out an ugly line of red across his temple. "Detective... I think you hit your head. Can you see straight?"

Don opened his eyes and squinted at Adam. If he hadn't been so scared, the lab rat would probably have found it funny - the pair of them peering at each other, nose to nose, like a couple of sun-blind moles.

"You look like crap," Don said, finally.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"How 'bout me?"

"Oh, yeah, crap too, no doubt about it." Adam kept his tone light, but frankly he was worried. The detective's words were slurring and, even now, he slipped closer to the floor. "D-detective Flack, I need to look at your leg."

"S'right there."

"I know. But... I need to touch it. And I might hurt you. Please... please don't lash out. I'm only trying to help, okay?" Silence. "Detective Flack?"

"Th... thought I told you..." Clearly the man was struggling. "Call me Don."

Adam's smile came out again but the effort cost him, as pain shot through the upper half of his face. "Sorry. Don. Are you ready?"

"Ready," said Don, between clenched teeth. Closing his eyes, he turned his face away. The lab rat bent over his leg and tried to examine the ugly wound.

_Wish I had Sheldon here right now,_ he thought. _Or maybe Sid._ The medical examiner grinned at him from inside his head, beckoning him onto a table. Adam swallowed. _Don't freak out now, Ross, you idiot. You've caused enough trouble already._

Removing his CSI vest, he slipped out of the ruined shirt as well and tried to tear it into strips - something that always looked so easy in the movies. What Adam actually ended up with were a couple of scruffy damp rags. Full of shame, he turned one into a kind of pad and then strapped it across the gunshot wound, using the other pieces of cloth to tie it firmly in place. He wasn't really sure if it would help, but it might stop the blood flow, at least for a little while. Balling up the vest, he tucked it under Don's calf. It didn't raise his leg very far - _but_ _what else can I do?_ he wondered, feeling a little desperate.

"Bad?" the detective asked him, quietly. Adam wavered.

"I... the bullet's still in there, I think. And I don't know how to get it out. You need a doctor. Maybe..." He gulped. "Maybe I should ask Bob..."

Don shook his head emphatically - but the action was too much for his rattled brain. With a whimper of dismay, he folded over and crumpled to the floor.

"Yep," sighed Adam. "Guess that settles that."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** Can't leave this chapter without saying how much I _loved_ the reviews for the last one. Thank you so much. I mean, I knew that shooting Don would be a biggie, but wow! CAT217, you made _me_ laugh out loud. Will Adam do that? You'll have to wait and see...


	12. Chapter 12

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Twelve**

"So, Taylor. I hear your guy went AWOL."

"That's not what happened, and you know it."

Mac glared at the bull-faced man in front of him. Why did it have to be Baxter, of all people? His tactics were sloppy and his mouth was legendary. Now here he was, in charge of a team that held the lives of Adam and Don in their hands. _Thanks a lot, Chief. Great call._ At least Mac had been granted ultimate authority. That meant he could rule against the captain if he made the wrong decision. Whatever the consequences. Unfortunately, Baxter knew it too - and that made him bitter.

"You shouldn't even be out here," he said. "Sinclair should have pulled your ass off the case the moment he heard about it. What, you think that we can't resolve this thing without you?"

"The suspect called _me_," Mac retorted, trying to hold down his anger. "I'm the one he wants. Besides, I know how to handle hostage negotiations."

Baxter sneered, his tiny eyes narrowing even further. "Oh, yeah, that's right. You've got experience. Only, as I recall, last time you did this, you helped the bad guy out of the bank and then ended up at the bottom of the river. Tell me again - which part of that is 'handling' it?"

"I'm not going to stand here arguing with you." Mac shoved his hands deep into his pockets and clenched his fists. "When you're ready to deal with me, I'll be in the command centre. Trying to save my men."

"Your _man_," his foe muttered. "Don Flack's one of ours, you arrogant jerk."

Somehow, Mac managed to turn and walk away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Ask Bob._ Adam gulped as he stared at the open gap in the rotting walls. _Just like that. Piece of cake..._ But there was Don, still lying on the floor, and so Adam closed his mind to the fear and began the awkward process of clambering to his feet. The pain in his head grew worse with every movement. Clearly, height was a factor, for some reason. _Good job I'm not the Detective, then,_ sighed the delirious lab rat. At last, a benefit to being shorter.

Adam's fingertips brushed a nearby table. Somehow, the contact helped him to find his balance. He gasped with relief, and the pigeons nesting quietly in the rafters took fright and rose from their perches. They circled around his head, making him wobble dangerously, and then fled the building altogether. _So easy,_ thought Adam. _Sometimes I wish I could fly..._

Unfortunately, their rapid exit had caught Bob's attention. A dark and ominous shadow stepped into the doorway, stealing what little light there was. Adam couldn't see the man's face, but really, he didn't need to. It was imprinted upon his memory now and would probably stay there forever. _However long that might be..._ Adam blinked away the random thought and steeled his nerves.

"E-excuse me," he stammered - and then his mind went blank. How could he possibly bargain with this man? He had no leverage, and no powers of persuasion. _Oh, Mac,_ he thought, helplessly. _What I wouldn't give to have you right here with me now._

But Mac wasn't there. It was him, or no one. And Don would die if he failed. Fixing his boss's stern image foremost in his mind, he tried again, louder this time. "Excuse me." Bob stayed silent, watching him with what Adam could only assume was callous amusement. "The detective's really hurt. I think he needs a doctor..."

There was a crackling noise, and Bob lifted the radio that he had hidden by his side.

"Did you hear that, Taylor?"

Adam's heart almost stopped.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Proof of life. That's what he had demanded. Not proof of imminent death.

Mac paced through the ground floor apartment that served as a temporary command centre. The rest of the building had been cleared - not without some difficulty. Sanchez was right. The tenants in this high rise were particularly stubborn and uncooperative, and they really didn't want to leave their homes. Even with the threat of an armed killer at large on their roof and half of the NYPD parked on their doorstep.

"Look," he growled into the radio. "I did what you wanted. I found out the information and I'm going to bring your daughter. Now I need something from you in return. Let me help Detective Flack. Tell me what's wrong with him."

On the other end, Bob considered. "You know," he said at last, "I think I'll let Science Boy spin you that tale. He's good at telling stories..."

Reaching out, he shoved the radio into Adam's hand. The lab rat blinked in bewilderment. "Wh-what am I s'posed to say?"

"Just tell your boss how his friend got hurt. I'm sure he'll be sympathetic."

_Funny,_ thought Adam, _now that I got my wish, I'm not sure I want it..._

"Mac?" he ventured.

"Adam! Are you okay?"

_Not really._ "Um... yes. I think so. I... I'm fine." He looked up to see his old friend, the barrel of Bob's gun pointing in his direction. "Well, a little bruised, here and there. But Don's hurt worse."

"Tell me what happened." Mac tried to keep his voice from sounding agitated. "Just like a lab report, Adam. One step at a time."

_One step at a time. Okay. I can do this. I'm helping Don..._ "D-Detective Flack had a key to the cuffs. He hid it from Bob." Adam's eyes were lowered by now. It was terribly hard to concentrate. "I... We waited and waited. We wanted to find the right moment. But I kept pushing..."

"Adam." Mac's voice was tense. "I'm not looking for blame. I want to know what happened. Just the facts."

"B-Bob was distracted. So Detective Flack unlocked the cuffs - but then the sirens came. We had to run. There was no other choice. Bob chased us..." Swallowing, Adam risked a nervous glance at the shadow in the doorway. "Boss, he shot him. Right in the leg, and then he fell, and hit his head on a pot or something, and I tried to see if he was alive, but then Bob... Well, then he dragged us..." Suddenly, Bob's gun was right in his cheek, and Adam paused.

"No location," hissed the man. The lab rat gulped, and nodded as the barrel was removed.

"Okay, boss, sorry, I'm not s'posed to say. But when I woke up, I tried to help him - Detective Flack, I mean - and I bandaged his leg a little but there's nothing else I can do, and Mac, I'm really worried, 'cos n-now he's unconscious again..." The panic was rising in Adam's throat, and he stuttered miserably to a halt. Bob nodded, satisfied.

"Wait - when you woke up? What happened to _you_, Adam?" asked his boss, just a little too late. Bob snatched the radio out of the lab rat's hand and pushed him backwards, watching him stumble and fall with no trace of pity whatsoever.

"Adam's fine. It's your cop friend you should be worrying about. So here's my next deal. Three more hours, and you tell me who took my daughter. Then I'll let a medic onto the roof. Understand?"

"Who _took_ your daughter? You mean she's been kidnapped? Is that what this is about?"

"You know, I could tell that you were smart," snapped Bob. "Three hours - or less, if you've any compassion for your friends. Say goodbye, Science Boy." He aimed his foot at the lab rat's stomach, but Adam clenched his teeth and refused to cry out. "Suit yourself. I'll do it for you. Goodbye, Mac Taylor. Hope your men are still alive when you call again."


	13. Chapter 13

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Thirteen**

"That's it!" groaned Danny, throwing the printing brush back into his case. Fine white powder flew into the air, like a tiny mushroom cloud. "I can't squeeze one more piece of evidence outta this place. I'm callin' Mac."

"Thank the good Lord for that." Sanchez stalked to the door and peered up and down the corridor. "We're the only ones up here, you know. It feels so strange. Like the crackle in the air before a storm. I swear, the building knows that something bad is happening."

"You superstitious, Sanchez? Never would have thought it."

"Of course not, Messer. I'm just saying, that's all. I don't like it."

Nonchalantly, Danny keyed Mac's number. "Scaredy cat," he whispered, just as he lifted the phone to his ear. "Hey, boss. You got a minute? I need to talk to you." Sanchez stuck her tongue out, robbed of the chance to retaliate - which, of course, was exactly what Danny intended. He smirked, and turned away.

Not wanting to intrude as the detective begged for his release, Sanchez crossed the room once more and stared out of the window. The glass was grimy, but she could still make out the building opposite. Etta's eyes were sharp, and she liked a challenge. _Spot the sniper,_ she thought - and began to study all the likely places. It wasn't long before she found him. Really, men had no imagination. Dark barrel, resting on a pale grey ledge. _Ever heard of camouflage?_ Enjoying her game, she started to compile a list of hiding places that she would have chosen instead. She was so absorbed that she never heard Danny creeping up behind her.

"Boo!"

She spun round, startled, her knuckles an inch away from striking his jaw.

"Good reflexes," said Danny, pulling a face. He pushed the fist down to her side and stepped backwards.

"Messer, you pig, that's not funny." Etta was grinning, though. "What did your boss say?"

The detective shrugged. "Time to go back to the lab. We're all done here."

"What about my radio? I need it." Sanchez looked uncertain.

"Better take that up with him. He's down on the ground floor, apartment number three. I'm outta here." Danny picked up his case. "Well, Sanchez, it's been a blast."

"Likewise, Messer." Brown eyes held his for a moment, deeply serious. "I hope your friend gets out of this okay. Detective Flack too."

Danny's good humour fell away, as the weight settled back on his shoulders. He nodded briefly and left the apartment without another word.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arriving back at the crime lab, he stuck his head around Jo's office door.

"There you are," she said. "Did you bring me more evidence?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," the detective sighed. "I was a little frustrated, and I may have got carried away."

She shook her head wearily. "Thorough is good. Who knows what you managed to gather up, somewhere in the mix? Give them..." _To Adam, _she thought. _That's what you were about to say. Admit it._ Her heart ached, but she pushed on valiantly. "Give them to the techs on duty. Share the load."

"Okay... Then where do you want me?"

Jo stood up and came round the desk to meet him. "Actually, out in the field again. Lindsay and I are going to visit the wife and find out more about this daughter. See if she really has been kidnapped, or if this is just some kind of sick game. I need you and Sheldon to do me a different favour."

"What's that?" asked Danny, suspiciously.

"Well - we found a ridiculous amount of spice on the victim's body and clothing. Like he'd been in some kind of Chinese food explosion..." She gave a lop-sided grin. "It may be nothing, I suppose, but my gut tells me it's important."

"There was no Chinese food in the kitchen," said Danny with feeling. "Believe me, I know. So, wait... Are we gonna check out every Chinese restaurant in New York? 'Cos I could do that..." He patted his stomach.

Jo laughed. It was good to have him back. "Fortunately, we've managed to narrow it down. The exact mix of spices on John Street's body is a manufactured blend - and it's an expensive one. Red Pagoda, imported straight from the Orient. Only a handful of New York restaurants use that company."

"How many constitutes a handful?"

Jo looked suitably penitent. "Ah... twenty...?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sanchez wasn't the only one to have spotted the sniper. Bob's sharp eyes had picked him out as well, and two more besides. Angrily, he paced up and down the workshop, afraid to step outside.

"Mac Taylor," he fumed. "Thinks he can just shoot me and steal his happy ending? Well, I'll teach him."

_What does that mean?_ thought Adam in dismay. Had his boss actually made things worse? Or maybe Mac wasn't in control any more - Adam knew how these things went. A ring of snipers, all around the rooftop, waiting to fire. The image was frightening.

Beside him, Don muttered urgently under his breath. Lost in a wandering pain-induced nightmare, he leant on Adam's shoulder, his dark head bowed. The lab rat had tried to prop him up, hoping to wake him, but so far Don was still little more than a dead weight, almost crushing the smaller man. Heat crept out of him and travelled down Adam's arm. That wasn't good either.

"Detective Flack," he whispered. "Don. Can you hear me? I'd really like it if you woke up now. I... I'm a little bit scared." He looked up, his blue eyes wide and fighting against the gloom as he watched Bob pace. "I wish there was more I could do to help you. But Mac knows you've been hurt, and I'm sure he's doing everything he can. We... you just have to hang on, okay? Just a little while longer." Adam lifted his hand and gently patted Don's arm. "D-don't leave me, okay? And I promise I won't leave you..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Waiting. Mac hated it. Right now, he wished that he'd never demanded the right to be in control. He felt like nothing more than a glorified traffic cop, sending people left and right - some to the roof, and some to the stairwell; some to the buildings opposite and some to control the crowd. Why hadn't he simply rejoined his team? After all, they were doing the real work, following leads and tracking down the vital information that would save their friends. Shouldn't that be his job too?

One look at Baxter answered his silent question.

The bull-faced man was standing beside a bookshelf, thumbing idly through a paperback. Storming up to him, Mac released some of his pent-up frustration by ripping the novel from his fingers and tossing it halfway across the apartment. "Is this the example you set for your men?" he demanded hotly. "You lazy, good-for-nothing..."

"Don't you dare!" exclaimed the captain, embarrassment making him reckless. "Don't you dare presume to tell me how I ought to do my job. Just do your own, and stay the hell out of my way."

Shouldering past the startled detective, he strode off in a fury.

"What's eating him?" asked a mild voice, full of curiosity.

"Man's an ass," replied Mac shortly, as Officer Sanchez entered the room.

"And I'm guessing you just told him so. Sir," she added, hurriedly, realising that she might have sounded a little too familiar. _Dammit, Messer. You're starting to rub off on me._

"I may have done." Already, Mac's temper was cooling, and the regret was creeping in. He knew that he could have - _should_ have - handled things better. Oddly, he found himself wishing for Jo. But he'd sent her away to lead his team and now, instead, here he was with Sanchez. The officer watched him with thoughtful eyes, respectful at last, but also deeply concerned.

"How can I help?" she asked, not really knowing where the question came from. He wasn't her boss, but he was a man in need and, from what she had heard, a good one. "I'm sure the precinct can spare me a little longer."

"Thank you," said Mac, surprised. "But don't get yourself into trouble on our account."

"No trouble," she insisted. "Aren't you in charge? Besides, Flack'd do the same for any one of us."

As he listened to her straightforward point of view, Mac smiled with relief. The clouds of fear and worry parted, leaving the situation clear in his mind. High above him on the rooftop, his two friends huddled, lost and in pain. What was the point of petty confrontation? They needed him, and that was all that mattered.

A new idea began to take shape.

"Come with me," he said to Sanchez, striding from the room.


	14. Chapter 14

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Fourteen**

Hypnotised by Bob's incessant pacing, Adam began to droop. Sleep was the cowardly option, he knew, but right now all he wanted was to let his mind escape. _Just for a little while,_ he thought wearily, shifting under the weight of his injured companion. He closed his eyes with a tiny sigh and started to let go.

Seconds later - or was it longer? - a noise like the wrath of God tore through his skull. Adam yelped, and even Don was shocked out of his stupor. Bob stared up at the trembling rafters, clamping his mouth shut as dust filled the air around him.

"What is it?" cried Adam, fighting to be heard.

"Helicopter," Don Flack mouthed, awake at last and pushing away from the lab rat. As the blood began to circulate more freely through Adam's arm, he hissed and clenched his teeth against the cramp that held him rigid for a moment.

_Helicopter?_ Images of black-clad soldiers hurtling down on ropes filled Adam's head. Clearly, Bob was having a similar experience. For the first time, Adam saw something close to fear in his eyes. Reaching out, he gripped the lab rat's arm - the same arm that still throbbed with pain - and hauled him to his feet.

No explanation was necessary. Wrapping his arm around Adam's throat, Bob lifted his gun to the other man's head once again and stepped out of the workshop. His human shield stumbled awkwardly in front of him, not knowing which way to turn. Both men looked up - and Bob gave a snort of bitter amusement.

"Typical!" he barked in Adam's ear.

The chopper that rode the air above them, safely out of bullet range, belonged to a local news station.

"Smile for the camera." Bob ducked his own face out of sight. Adam didn't know whether to laugh or cry. No imminent hail of bullets, then - but no rescue, either. Staring up at the helicopter, he saw two anxious faces peering back at him.

"Rooftop," said an amplified voice, through a squeal of static. "This is a mercy mission. We have a package for you."

Bob kept silent. Adam could feel the man's harsh breath on the back of his neck.

"I've been instructed to give you the following message." The crew member's voice was female, and full of authority. Gazing up at the woman's face through the window of the helicopter, Adam was troubled by the thought that he had seen her somewhere before. A news report, maybe? _You mean I'm gonna end up on t.v.?_ The lab rat lowered his head. So, there it was. The final nail in the coffin of his new career, before it had even started. Mac would never want a CSI who could get into this much trouble.

_Assuming you're going to live long enough for that to be a problem._

Clenching his fists, he forced himself to listen as the woman's voice continued.

"The contents of this box are freely given. No tricks. Use them to help your hostages, and yourself. Do you accept?"

Still Bob was quiet. "Please," begged Adam, turning his head to the side as far as he dared. "Say yes. What harm will it do? We need it. _You_ need it. Surely you can see that?"

"Don't you _tell_ me what to do!" his captor hissed. But the lab rat could sense that he was wavering. "All right," said Bob, at last. "Give them a sign. We'll take their precious package. _My _decision," he added, stabbing at Adam's temple with the barrel of his gun.

Adam felt a surge of pride. _No, _he thought. _Mine_. For once, he had managed to hold his ground and the tiny victory filled him with indescribable warmth.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Don Flack waited anxiously for Adam and Bob to return. He had heard the amplified message and he knew the source of their gift. _Sneaky tactics,_ grinned the detective, wincing as he struggled to find a comfortable position. _Nice one, Mac._ It was good to know that someone was looking out for them. He wondered if Adam was still all right. The lab rat hadn't looked good, the last time he studied him. And Bob had taken a real dislike to him - so much so that making him suffer seemed to give him some kind of creepy pleasure. Maybe it was Adam's vulnerability. Don only hoped that, underneath, his companion had hidden strengths.

At last, the chopper banked away from the rooftop, thunder churning in its wake. The silence that it left behind was eerie. Listening to the blood pound in his ears, Don pulled a face. The headache from hell was creeping up on him. He lifted one hand to fumble at the tight bar of pain across his forehead. To his surprise, his fingers came away icy, and coated with sweat. _But I'm hot, not cold,_ his muddled brain protested. As for the throbbing sensation in his leg - well, the less he chose to think about that, the better. Trusting to his stubborn will, he pushed the pain as far away from the active part of his mind as he possibly could, trapping it behind makeshift walls of distraction and denial.

The pounding in his head began to separate until it turned into footsteps; two sets, one firm and one erratic. Lifting his eyes to the doorway, he watched as Adam entered, followed doggedly by Bob. Cradled in the lab rat's arms was a polystyrene box. It was clearly too heavy for him, but Bob did nothing to help, preferring to watch him struggle as he tried to stop it slipping through his fingers.

"There," said the man, and Adam hefted it onto the empty workbench. "Now. Step back and sit with _him_."

His eyes still lingered regretfully on the box, but Adam did as he was told, shuffling backwards and sliding down to land beside his friend with an awkward _thump_. "Hey. You're awake," he whispered, his raw voice full of relief.

"Looks that way. Though I kinda wish I wasn't. What's in the box, d'you suppose?"

Adam considered, checking his guesses one finger at a time. "Ah... water, okay, that's a definite, which is good, 'cos I bet you're thirsty. Bandages and stuff, I hope, 'cos they know that you... I mean, he... well, you're hurt..."

"You gonna fix me up, Ross?" the detective interrupted, as Adam floundered. "I like what you've done so far."

The lab rat flushed. "Oh... that... I'm not very good, you see."

Don squeezed his hand. "That's bull. You're better than you think. How'd they come to know about my leg anyway? You tell 'em?"

"Yes," breathed Adam. "I spoke to Mac." He giggled nervously. "I asked for help and it fell from the sky. We... we've got three hours, okay?"

"Three hours 'til what?" Don's tone was suspicious.

"'Til you get a medic. That's what Bob said. If Mac does what he wants."

"And what was that, exactly?"

Adam's eyes followed the killer, who was slowly lifting things out of the crate and lining them up on the bench, absorbed for the moment. "He wants his daughter."

"Yeah - we knew that. So, what's the problem?"

"She's been kidnapped or something. I think he wants Mac to get her for him."

Don shook his head. "In three hours? Then we're screwed." Staring at Adam's crestfallen face, he regretted being so forthright, but really, what chance did they have? Better to be honest, and deal with things head on.

The lab rat lowered his eyes and, in a tiny voice, he whispered, "I trust Mac."

"That's good," said Bob, who had finally finished unpacking. He stood in front of them, Adam's penknife dangling from his fingers. Don felt a crazy urge to leap up and grab it - but moving was kind of an issue right now, and so the moment passed. "Let's all trust Mac together. In the meantime, I've thought of another round for my game. It's called 'Truth or Consequences'." He gestured to the line of prizes ranged across the bench. "So. Gentlemen. What shall we play for first?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"And you never saw Detective Flack?"

Mac and Sanchez stood in front of a laptop, watching the footage captured by the chopper.

"No. But both of them came from this building here." She pointed. "It looks like some kind of shed. If he's wounded, like your man said, he could be inside."

"What _is_ that place?" asked Mac, peering closer at the image. Sanchez shrugged.

"It's a workshop," said an unexpected voice. "Added on to the building in the early seventies. Somewhere for the super to keep his tools and do small odd jobs."

They turned around. Baxter had entered the room behind them and now he offered Mac a rolled-up set of plans. "I thought you might need these," he added, flushing slightly.

Mac accepted the blueprints with solemn grace, recognising the gesture for what it was - an apology. "Thanks. I do." Stepping backwards, he made space for Baxter, welcoming him into the group. The bull-faced man took his chance. Sanchez smiled at him warmly.

"Nice move with the chopper," Baxter continued, feeling more at ease. "How'd you get 'em to do that?"

"I negotiated." There was a wicked twinkle in Mac's eye as he used the term deliberately. "Offered them something they couldn't refuse."

"Let me guess," said the captain. "Exclusive rights to the footage?"

Taylor nodded. "It took about five seconds for them to agree."

Together, the three of them stared at the tiny figures on the roof. It was hard for Mac to convince himself that what he was seeing was real. The fact that it was Adam - sensitive, kind-hearted Adam - only made it worse. The man should never have left the lab. _Next time my instinct screams at me, I'll listen,_ Mac thought grimly.

"Look," said Sanchez. "Watch his lips. He's saying something to Bob."

Mac paused the footage and zoomed in closer. Pressing 'play', he studied Adam's face. Beside him, the officer grinned.

"He's persuading him to take the box. I never caught that before. See, here comes the sign."

_Well, I'll be damned,_ thought Mac.

The smile on Adam's battered face said it all, as he waved his arms above his head. "I knew I liked that man," said Sanchez, quietly. "You've got a good one there, Detective Taylor." With a shrewd look in her dark brown eyes, she watched for Mac's response.

"So it would appear," he nodded. Deep in his gut, a small knot of tension slowly began to unwind.


	15. Chapter 15

**HIGH STAKES**

**A/N:** This chapter is one of my favourites so far. I really enjoyed writing it. So I hope that you like it too. I'm really grateful, as always, for your amazing reviews - and for everyone who is taking the time to read this story.

**Chapter Fifteen**

"What I don't understand," said Lindsay, "is how a father can cut off his child without a single penny. I mean, Michael Street is worth millions. And look where his son was living."

"Life lesson?" offered Jo. "I checked into John Street's financials. In the last year alone, he blew through fifty thousand dollars. The man's in debt up to his eyeballs. _Was_ in debt," she corrected herself, with a sigh. "Had to be some kind of vice. Gambling would be my first thought, since Sid didn't find any drugs in his system, other than super-high quantities of caffeine."

"Maybe he's been hanging out with Adam..." joked Lindsay, before faltering into silence. Jo gave her a friendly nudge and opened the car door.

"Come on," she said. "We're here."

'Here' was the shaded entrance to a prestigious New York apartment complex. A doorman, resplendent in scarlet, greeted them with a look of disdain - one that he had clearly been practising at home, in front of the mirror.

"Good day," said Jo, warmly. Lindsay folded her arms and kept silent. The woman's technique was always a joy to watch. She was so... cheerfully relentless. It was wicked, really. The poor guy never stood a chance. "We're from the Crime Lab. Do you know this man?" Holding up the I.D. photo of Robert Finn, she glanced at the doorman's name tag. "Frederick. According to our research, he's a listed tenant here."

Frederick unbent a little and deigned to look at the picture. "Quite right," he said. "Top floor, 5F. Almost the penthouse - but not quite." The look he gave was meaningful, and the women caught it at once.

"Aspirations of grandeur, unfulfilled," Jo nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Frederick. And his family?"

"Daughter. Teenage." Frederick's look of dismissal was plain. Only adults counted in his world. "And a rather surprising wife."

"Surprising? How?" asked Lindsay, speaking for the first time. Both women leaned in, encouraging Frederick with their body language. Underneath his starch, the man was a gossip, pure and simple. Now they had set him off, there was no stopping him. He raised one eyebrow, delighted at the attention.

"Quiet. Mousy. And really rather shabby." Frederick sniffed. "In my opinion, a man like Finn would normally choose a woman who gave him - something."

"Something?" pressed Jo, although she knew exactly what he meant.

"Borrowed plumage. The man has money, but what he needs is glamour. Mrs Finn is hardly what you would call a trophy wife."

"Perhaps he loves her," Lindsay suggested quietly. She was shocked by the doorman's harsh reaction. Shaking his head, he spat on the pavement behind him.

"Love?" he barked, wiping his mouth with the edge of one white glove. The CSI winced. "I really doubt that. Robert Finn's a... what do you crime-people call it? A sociopath. Devoid of all feeling, unless it's the pleasure of causing people pain. Ask his wife. She won't tell you, but you'll see it all the same."

"And his daughter?" Jo asked him.

"Stays with her friends most nights, as far as I can tell," the doorman admitted. "She hates the man. They both do. But you didn't hear that from me," he added suddenly, straightening up and crossing his hands behind his back. "I need this job. And we're not supposed to tittle-tattle."

"No gossip." Smiling warmly, Jo patted his arm as he let them in. "Just a helpful citizen, assisting with our enquiries. Thank you, Frederick. You've been a treasure."

Lindsay tried not to laugh at the poor man's disconcerted expression.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Of course, it was Adam that Bob chose to go first.

Ordering him into the middle of the room, the killer retreated to the opposite wall and stared at him greedily. "I want a memory," he said. A chink of afternoon light fell across his face, making his dark eyes gleam. Adam swallowed.

"What kind of memory?" he asked. Bob shrugged.

"A childhood one, I think. They're always so intense. The worst you can remember."

"Why?" The exclamation burst from Adam's lips before he could stop it. This game was ridiculous and he didn't want to play.

"Because I'm asking you." Bob's voice was low by now, and his tone was frightening. "We ought to get to know each other. We're going to be here some time."

"And if I don't?" The lab rat shuffled his feet and tried not to look intimidated. He could feel Don's eyes on his back, and it gave him strength.

"No prize. And, of course, the consequence." Bob twirled the knife between his fingers, as though he were playing, but the meaning was terribly clear.

"Okay. Okay..." Adam closed his eyes to block out the image. _I'll do it for Don,_ he thought. _Not for you._ "Then I want the first aid kit."

"Not the water? Or the food?" Bob grinned maliciously. "Oh, what a hero. I hope your wounded friend over there is grateful. I guess we'll soon find out, when it's his turn. Now. Your memory, Adam, please. And make it a good one. If I think you're holding back, the round is lost."

Something fierce and hot rose up in Adam. He glared back at the man with violent dislike. _Then you'll get what you wish for. _Pressing deep into forbidden thoughts, he searched for a truth that would shut Bob up completely. A memory that no child should possess, especially a frightened six-year old boy. Trying not to think about the fact that Detective Flack would hear it too, he launched into his story.

"It was summer," he said, in a husky voice. "I was playing outside, on my own. Practising my swing, okay, 'cos Dad said I hit like a girl."

Bob smirked. "How old were you?"

"I was six," Adam whispered. He closed his eyes again, and the memory drew him in deeper. "And Dad was right. The... the ball went through the window. I never heard a sound so loud. At first, I couldn't move. But then I saw my mom's face, peering through the glass. So I went inside."

Don listened curiously, even though he had told himself that he wouldn't. So far, he didn't understand why this would be Adam's worst memory. What kid hadn't smacked a ball through a window at one time or another in their childhood? He'd done it himself, at least a dozen times. And as for Sam...

Speaking like someone lost in a trance, Adam continued.

"She was holding the ball in her hand. And she looked so sorry. I wanted to cry, but the tears were all choked up in my throat. She reached out to hug me - but then my d-dad walked in. He'd just come home, and he saw the hole in the window when he got out of the car." The lab rat's hands were shaking by now. He clenched them tightly by his sides, just as his dad had clenched his fists... "He grabbed the ball from my mom and started shouting. About how I was so clumsy and useless, a silly little baby, and how she had pampered me. How I needed to be taught a lesson. Then... Then he threw the ball at her head." Adam gasped; a tiny, wretched sound. "She fell down, and I swear, I thought she was dead. Her face was so white, except for this tiny red mark, like a kiss. I sat down beside her and started to shake her, trying to wake her up. B-but my dad just picked up the phone. He... he called 911. And he said it was all my fault. E-even at the hospital, when the doctors and the police asked him what happened. He said that I had th-thrown the ball and knocked my own mother out. And they believed him... I was six, and scared, and after a while, I started to believe him too. For a long time, I forgot what really happened. Until I was all grown up, and went to a baseball game, and the sound of the ball being struck brought it all flooding back." He opened his blue eyes, and stared at the man before him. "I _hated_ him for that." All his anger and his fear went into that one word, as he spat it into Bob's face. "For making me think that I was the one who hurt her."

Behind him, Don's world reeled. He wondered how much Mac knew about Adam's past. He also wondered what other memories the troubled lab tech was hiding. Now, at last, he understood the expression that sometimes appeared on Danny's face when he looked at Adam.

Bob was less sympathetic.

"That'll do, I suppose," he nodded, waving Adam forward to the workbench. The lab rat darted across and snatched the precious first aid kit. Scurrying back to Don, he began to rifle through its contents, even before he sat down. Painkillers. Saline solution. And bandages - thank God.

"Please," he begged, trembling with relief. "Give us a little time. I need to help him."

Bob shrugged. "Take five minutes," he said, lifting a bottle of water to his lips. "Mmm," he laughed, when he had drained its contents. "That was good. Sure you're not thirsty?"

"Just ignore him," whispered Don, though his own throat was dry and uncomfortable by now.

"I know. I'm trying." Adam gave him a wobbly smile and started to unwind the strip of cloth around Don's leg.

"And Adam? Thank you," said the detective.

The lab rat flushed. "Just don't tell the others, okay...?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Pale eyes stared at Jo through the crack in the doorway.

"My husband isn't here," said Mary Finn.

"I know, honey. That's what we're here to talk about." Jo lifted her badge and flashed the woman a different kind of smile to the one she had used on Frederick. This one was Lindsay's favourite - a genuine expression of warmth and sympathy. It seemed to work on Mary, because she unlocked the chain and opened the front door fully.

"Thank you," said Lindsay, following Jo into the apartment. Mary stood to one side, scratching the top of her left hand with a nervous, habitual motion. Beneath her nails, the skin was already raw. Frederick was right. The woman was a mouse. And clearly terrified. A lump rose in Lindsay's throat.

"I don't know when he'll be back. I wasn't supposed to let anybody in." Mary stopped scratching and wrung her fingers together in distress. Trying to distract herself, she glanced towards the kitchen. "Ah... do you want some tea?"

Lindsay was about to decline, when Jo stepped forward. "That would be lovely," she said. "My poor throat's drier than a creek bed in a drought, as my daddy used to say. Let me help you make it." One meaningful look was all Lindsay needed. As soon as the other two women had gone, she began to look around.

The living room was large, and painfully clean. There were very few signs of comfort, apart from a couple of signed sporting pictures on the wall, and one other photograph of Bob Finn and his family. His arms hung round Mary and Isla as though he were claiming his property. All three faces were blank, and careful. Aside from the pictures, furniture was minimal, and placed with cold precision. Lindsay thought with fondness of her own tiny apartment, with its happy, lived-in look. There was no such joy here. No wonder Mary looked so pale and weary.

With no drawers or cupboards to check through, Lindsay was at a loss. She couldn't hunt through the other rooms without passing by the kitchen, so she waited, hoping that her colleague was having more luck.

In the pristine kitchen, Jo swirled the milk carton thoughtfully. "I know about your daughter," she said.

Mary jumped, and boiling water splashed on the kitchen floor. It narrowly missed her leg, and Jo was immediately contrite. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she cried, leaping to take the kettle away from Mary. "That was thoughtless of me. I should have waited until we were sitting down."

"No... no, it's my fault." Mary snatched a nearby mop and began to scrub through the puddle as though she were scrubbing at the ache inside her chest. Gently, Jo reached out and placed a hand on her arm to stop her.

"Later," she said. "We'll clean that up together. It's all right. Your husband won't be coming home for a long time - I can promise you that."

The mop hit the floor with a bang. "Wh-what do you mean?" Mary's pale eyes were wide and almost frantic.

Jo sighed. "He's got himself into - a bit of a situation."

"Because of Isla?" whispered Mary.

"Yes, that's right." Jo steered her out of the kitchen, all thoughts of tea forgotten. "Look, honey, come and sit down so we can tell you all that we know. And then, perhaps, you'll fill in the blanks for us."

"I'm not supposed to talk." Mary shook her head, but Jo could tell that she was wavering.

"I think you need to, this time," she advised her. "For your daughter's sake. She's missing, isn't she?"

The three of them sat down on the rigid sofa.

"Since last night," admitted Mary, "but we never realised. Not until the phone call this morning. I think... I think Robert recognised the voice. He went off in such a fury, and he told me not to open the door to anyone. That he would sort it out, and bring her back. I.. I've been alone ever since." Her head drooped and suddenly her shoulders began to heave. "Oh, God. I don't know what to do."

Lindsay was the quickest. Pulling the woman's head to her shoulder, she held her tightly, rocking from side to side, as she did when Lucy had a nightmare and needed comforting.

"That's why we're here," she said, looking across Mary's head at her worried colleague.

_I wish I could tell her that everything's going to be fine..._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** Thinking back carefully through the episodes, I'm pretty sure that Don doesn't know about Adam's past. There's only one moment that I can remember where Adam mentions his dad in front of Don and, at that point, everyone's listing difficult family members, so the statement just slips by and I don't think Don really notices it. The only people who seem to know for sure (going purely by episodes) are Danny and Stella. Although I'd be willing to bet that Mac knows too...


	16. Chapter 16

**HIGH STAKES**

**A/N:** I don't use Sheldon nearly as much as I should. So I'm making it up to him in this chapter - sorry, Sheldon.

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Seventh time's the charm," muttered Danny, as they pulled up outside the Lucky Dragon restaurant.

"What gives it away?" grinned Hawkes. Both men stared at the squad car parked in front of them.

"Oh, I don't know. Call it well-honed intuition."

"How about calling it what it is? A guess." Sheldon was cheerfully pedantic, as always, and Danny punched him on the arm.

"You got no flair," he accused his colleague, with a grin. "Come on. Let's see what all the fuss is about. Maybe there's been a - what did Jo call it? - a 'Chinese food explosion'..."

"I hardly think they'd call the cops for that."

"Exactly," said Danny, pulling the man inside. "So there must be more, right? Like a robbery. Or a murder..." He was aching for action, desperate to use up the nervous energy fizzing around inside his wiry body. Sheldon knew it, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Let me take this," he advised. "You're far too jumpy."

Danny wanted to argue back, but really, he couldn't deny it. So he watched in silence as Hawkes approached the officer and the waitress.

"Pardon me," he said. "I'm from the crime lab. I wanted to ask her if she knew this man?" He held up a picture of John Street, lifted from the victim's apartment. The waitress shook her head, but couldn't hide the startled look that flashed through her eyes.

"You do," said Danny, darting forward. "Don't you?"

"I... I do," said the girl in careful English. "He came here every day for one week. But... I do not know his name."

"And what's _your_ name?" asked Sheldon kindly.

"I am Lin," said the waitress, lowering her eyes. She trembled as she spoke, and Sheldon saw that her cheeks were pale. With rapid, heaving breaths, the young girl struggled to maintain her poise in front of so many strangers.

"What happened here?" he asked. "Officer...?"

"Merrick. Suspicious death." The man was tall and he loomed over Sheldon, his shoulders slightly curved as though to compensate for his height. "M.E. just left with the body. Ethan Tang, nephew of the owner. This girl was the one who found him. That's why _I'm_ questioning her." With not-so-subtle pressure, he tried to reinforce his claim on the case. Danny twitched - but Sheldon was watching him, and intervened.

"Would you mind if we listened in? This may have something to do with _our_ investigation." He didn't pass up the chance to add a little pressure of his own. Merrick frowned, but Hawkes' firm politeness left him with no other choice but to comply.

Lin threw Sheldon a desperate, pleading look before turning back to gaze up at the officer.

Smoothing the page of his notebook, Merrick cleared his throat with pompous self-importance. Now that he had the stage, he intended to make the most of his part.

"Why did it take you so long to report the body?" he asked the waitress, a little too coldly for Sheldon's taste. "Tang's been dead for hours."

"I... I do not understand," said Lin, biting her lip as her eyes darted back to Sheldon. _Help me,_ they said. The CSI gave an encouraging smile and tried to make things clearer.

"When did you find him?"

Lin gasped in relief. "The storeroom outside is for special ingredients. Very expensive. Only my father has a key. When I went out this morning, I saw that the door was open. This was... twelve o' clock, I think. First I saw a terrible mess all over and then I saw him... Ethan... on the floor." Fluttering fingers rose to cover her mouth, and her eyes grew wide. She shook her head mutely - _no more._

"Does that answer your question?" Sheldon asked Merrick quietly. The officer curled his lip. "Look," Hawkes continued. "This girl is in shock. She needs to sit down. Why not leave her with me - I'm a doctor - and you can take my colleague round the back to see the crime scene. By the time you get back, your witness should have recovered."

He knew that sending Danny with Merrick was probably less than wise, but the waitress seemed to have fixed upon him as her defending angel. The officer opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it when he saw the steely look in Sheldon's eye.

"This way," he told Danny abruptly, slamming his way through the kitchen door. The detective followed at his heels, but not before he threw a wicked smirk in Sheldon's direction. Hawkes shook his head in despair and then turned to his patient, all business now that they were alone.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, checking her outward symptoms - pale, clammy skin; rapid breathing. These had improved significantly since Merrick left the room, and Hawkes smiled. "Not so bad now, I'm guessing?"

"He is not a nice man," said Lin with feeling. She tilted her head and regarded Sheldon with curious eyes. "Are you a policeman too? And a doctor? You must be very clever."

"I'm a CSI." Sheldon side-stepped the compliment carefully. When the girl looked blank, he tried to explain. "We treat crimes like puzzles. Look at the little things, and put the pieces together."

"I... I see," she said slowly. "You want to know... little things about Ethan?"

"And about where you found him." Sheldon nodded.

Lin thought carefully. Tiny white teeth pulled at her bottom lip. He tried not to smile at this childish habit. Finally, she looked up at him. "I have one thing," she said. "Ethan and the other man. From your picture. They spent much time together, late at night."

"You mean they were friends?"

"Not friends. And I do not know where Ethan met him. He did not come to eat here but to see my cousin. They met every time in the storeroom. He... Ethan stole my father's key and made a copy. And there was also another man - older, and well-dressed. A city man. I think they wanted to do something bad. But I did not tell my father." Tears filled her eyes. "I made a mistake. And now Ethan is dead."

Sheldon took her small hand in his own and patted it awkwardly. "This isn't your fault," he told her. "We'll find out what happened. And when we do, I'll tell you, so you'll know. Now - where's your father? He should be here. I don't want to leave you alone..." _Not with Merrick_. The waitress was practically a child. It didn't feel right.

"We live upstairs. My father took my mother up to her bed. She was too shocked. Ethan is... was... a favourite. She has no son. Just me..." To Sheldon's horror, Lin started to hiccup loudly, harsh sobs ripping from her delicate throat in a manner that was quite alarming.

"Oh... hey, no, don't do that. It's okay." He wished that Danny would hurry up and return. The situation was getting out of hand, and suddenly Sheldon felt quite uncomfortable. "We'll get your dad back down here, okay? I won't let anyone else ask you questions 'til then."

"Y-you are so kind," said Lin, between hiccups. "It was my good fortune that you came here today." She clutched at his fingers and Sheldon winced. Luckily, Danny chose that very moment to return. Merrick swaggered in his wake.

_Thank God. _"You find anything?" asked Hawkes, in a voice that was slightly too breezy.

Danny's quizzical look promised questions later but, to his credit, he didn't let Sheldon down. "A whole lotta spices," he said. "Looks like some kinda fight scene. We'll need to process it, but that much is obvious."

"You think Street killed Ethan?"

"Too soon to say. But there were no defensive wounds on our first victim's body. I think I'd like to take a look at this Ethan." Danny grinned softly as Merrick strode past him. There was a suspicious twinkle in his eye - and Sheldon soon realised why. When Merrick turned round for a moment, Hawkes saw a dusty white handprint, neatly planted between his shoulder blades. Flour, was Sheldon's guess. "Nice kitchen," said the detective, nonchalantly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: **By the way, in answer to your question, Forfargirl21, and for anyone else who was wondering when Adam mentions his father in front of Flack, the episode was Redemptio (Season 6). CAT217, well done for spotting that! (And everyone else who knew it too.) It's the one where Sheldon is trapped in prison and the team learns about his sister. They're wondering why they never heard about her before, until they stop and think about family members they're not so keen to discuss either - Louie, Sam and Adam's dad. Adam does glance at Don when he makes his brief comment (which is unusually open for him), but Don isn't looking back, as he is probably still thinking about Sam instead, and the moment passes very quickly. I'm sure you can read the scene several other ways, of course, but I like that way best.

More Adam and Don tomorrow!


	17. Chapter 17

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Seventeen**

Adam worked quickly. Already, blood had seeped through the makeshift bandages. He tried not to let the worry show on his face as he pulled them off, but it was hard. Don's keen eye was on him the whole time, studying every wince and every bruise. "You doin' okay?" the detective asked, his words a little slurred.

A short laugh burst from Adam's lips. "That's crazy. Stop asking me that. I'm fine - but right now, you'd have been better off with Sheldon. Any advice?"

Don turned away as the wound was released. Seeing it would only make it worse - illogical, he knew, but still... "Saline solution," he muttered. "Clean it up. Don't want infection."

"Of course... I knew that." _Get on with it, Adam, _the lab rat told himself. _The man shouldn't have to doctor his own leg. You can do this._ Gritting his teeth, he wrenched at the hole in Don's trousers, making it wider.

As Don lapsed into silence, Adam cleaned the skin around his wound with unexpectedly skilful fingers and growing concentration. If he treated it as a problem to be solved, then somehow everything became clear. The dreadful scene around him disappeared, and he was absorbed. Ripping open the packet containing a sterile dressing, he pressed it down on the wound and held it firmly for a while, in spite of Don's groan. "Can you take over?" he whispered at last, lifting Don's hand gently in his own and laying it down on the pad. The detective grunted. Glancing at his face, Adam was shocked to see how white he looked. The effort of holding back the pain was beginning to leave its mark. Adam moved faster. Unwinding the rolled-up bandage, he laid a section of it down against the pad and moved Don's fingers out of the way as he started to weave both ends around the man's thigh. It was awkward work, and every time he had to shift the leg, Don breathed a little more harshly.

"Hey, Detective... I mean, Don," said Adam softly, "d'you think that Mac's got some kind of cunning plan up his sleeve? I bet he has, right, and soon he'll just come bursting through that door..." The lab rat didn't really know what he was saying. He just knew that Don needed some kind of distraction. And nervous babbling - well, Adam was good at that. "He'll have Danny with him, and Jo will be waiting downstairs to give us both a hug and make us feel much better... I love her smile, don't you, 'cos it brightens up my whole day when I see her..."

"Adam," sighed Don, "that's enough. I think you're done."

"Oh. Okay."

Sure enough, looking down, Adam found that his hands had managed to tie a perfect bandage around Don's leg without any help from his brain at all. _My fingers are clever,_ he thought giddily. Snapping a couple of painkillers out of their foil surrounding, he shared them with Don. Water would have been nice, but Adam knew better than to ask.

"Finished playing nurse?" asked Bob with mock-politeness. "No - don't get up. The detective can take this round sitting down."

He swaggered up and down in front of them. Don was unimpressed.

"We still on that?" he demanded hoarsely. "'Cos I'm not in the mood."

Bob shrugged and hunkered down until he was face to face with the man. "Sure you don't want to re-think?" he said. "Your friend here looks terribly cold. I'd say he needs a nice warm blanket or two. And all it will cost you is a memory. A recent one, this time, I think... Your worst day, perhaps. Aside from this one, of course. I imagine, as a cop, you'll have plenty to choose from."

Adam stiffened. He knew exactly where Don's mind would have taken him. And he also knew from quiet observation that this was something Don could never share. He had seen - they had _all_ seen the pain that swelled inside the man like a festering wound, for days, and weeks, and months after Jess was killed. He had overcome it in the end - how, Adam could not imagine. But the lab rat knew that some memories never disappeared completely, no matter how hard you tried to push them away.

"Go to hell," snapped Don.

"Not yet," said Bob as he straightened up again. "Consequences first."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grateful for the barriers that held back the crowds and the gathering media, Mac and Baxter slipped across the street. Entering the building opposite, which was another heavy, old style apartment block, they jumped into the elevator and headed up to the top floor. To Mac's amusement, Baxter was going out of his way to be helpful now, offering the detective a chance to accompany him as he visited his scattered team. _Trying to prove he's a good leader after all._

As they stepped out into the corridor, Mac's phone rang. _Jo, _he guessed, _with yet another update_. He also knew what her real motive would be. _Checking up on me,_ grinned Mac. Somehow, he rather liked it. The knowledge that someone cared about how he was feeling - cared enough to ask. Jo was a colleague, and a fairly new one at that, but she hadn't been there long before he also began to consider her a friend. _Impossible not to,_ he realised, and he knew that the other team members felt the same.

Which was why she was probably freaking out right now, deep down inside. Adam and Don were two of her favourite people, after all. Checking up on Mac was also a way to handle her own growing frustration.

"Forty minutes left," said Mac. "What can you tell me?"

"You're not going to like it," Jo's voice breathed in his ear.

"Tell me anyway."

"We found another body."

Mac went cold. "Not the daughter?"

"Oh, Lord... no! I'm so sorry, Mac, that was thoughtless of me. No, this seems to be a friend of our first victim. Sid has him now, and Danny and Sheldon are still at the scene. It's a storeroom in a Chinese restaurant downtown. My guess is, these two men took the girl and held her there for a while. Something unexpected went down and they were forced to move her. Danny already found long dark hair, pulled out by the roots, as though there was some kind of violent struggle. That's where the spices came from, too. His name is Ethan Tang."

"John Street and Ethan Tang." Mac tested their names out loud. "Any thoughts on why they did this? What kind of grudge they might have against our friend 'Bob'?"

"I don't know - seems like meeting him is enough," sighed Jo, with a weary attempt at humour. "I did speak to Finn's wife, Mary. When I asked her about his job, she described him as a 'Finance Specialist'."

"Fancy term for a loan shark," Mac growled. "So - these men owed him money?"

"Well, Street's computer showed that he visited on-line casinos with frightening regularity. And his bank records show that he wasn't a lucky gambler. As for Tang, we're still looking into it. But, Mac..." She paused. "The waitress at the restaurant said that Street and Tang had meetings late at night with another man. A 'city man', Sheldon said she called him. Older, and well-dressed. She thought they might be plotting something."

"I'm not sure if that's good news or bad news," Mac commented wrily. "On the one hand, we have yet another suspect to identify before the deadline is up. On the other hand..."

"If one of the kidnappers is still alive then we have a much better chance of finding the girl." Jo finished the summary for him. "I know. Split priorities. Too many lives on the line. How's it going at your end?"

"Better," Mac said simply, aware that Baxter was still close at hand.

"I heard about your trick with the news chopper." Listening, Mac could picture the smile that went with her words. "Nicely done. Did you get any useful footage?"

"I saw Adam." He kept it brief, but tried to reassure her. "He's bruised - a broken nose, maybe - but otherwise okay. I'd say he's holding his own."

"Of course he is." Jo's voice was firm. "They're going to get out of this, Mac."

"Are you saying that for my benefit, or yours?" the detective joked.

"Both, of course," was her honest reply. "Mac, Sid's just appeared. I'll call you when I have more."

And the phone went dead.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You know, I could have come to you," Jo told Sid fondly.

"Of course. I knew that. But time is of the essence, so I thought that I would hotfoot it over to you instead. I'm pretty sure you'll want to hear this." The M.E. tapped his folder eagerly. Jo gestured to the opposite chair and waited for him to sit down.

"Please, Sid. Go on."

"Knowing that the bodies of our two victims were part of the same case, I took the liberty of making a few comparative studies, based on my preliminary findings. And what I discovered was odd, to say the least. Manner of death - completely different. As I told you before, John Street was most likely killed on an impulse, sudden and unexpected. Clean shot, close range, no struggle. Ethan Tang, on the other hand, died of a broken neck. Spinal cord completely transected - quite skilfully, I might add. He had minor abrasions all over him and had clearly been in one fight, if not two. Time of death - and here's the kicker - John Street was killed first, and Ethan Tang much later. Several hours, I would say."

"Are you sure?" Jo leaned forward, her interest piqued.

"I'm positive." He smiled at her, delighted by her reaction. "Does that help?"

"I don't know if 'help' is exactly the word. It certainly raises a couple of intriguing questions. If Bob killed Street, and fled to the rooftop - how could he then kill Ethan Tang? And if Street was already dead, that means he couldn't have killed him either. So..."

"So, who killed Ethan?" Sid looked down at his notes. "I also discovered one point of similarity - aside from the spice that covered their clothes, that is. Both men had somebody else's skin beneath their fingernails. DNA was a match - female, I'm afraid."

"The daughter," guessed Jo. "They were trying to restrain her. From her picture, I'd say she was the type to struggle. But why no defensive wounds on John Street?"

"Perhaps he backed off," Sid suggested. "Left the fight to a far more capable man. The clothes he was wearing, and the slackness of his muscles suggest a personality far more suited to cerebral pursuits than an afternoon down at the gym."

"Yes - pursuits like wasting all of his money online," sighed Jo. "So. Ethan Tang subdued the girl and John Street left them together. The big money question now is, what happened after that? Who killed Tang and took the girl?"

"That, my dear, is why you are an investigator, and I am just a humble examiner." Sid smiled graciously as he rose from his seat.

"Incorrigible man." Jo shook her head. Leaving the room together, they separated in the corridor - her goal to find Lindsay, his to return to the body of Ethan Tang.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cold air crept around the door as Baxter pushed it open. Behind the bull-faced man, Mac Taylor shivered. What had started out as a bright and sunny day was now a bitter afternoon. Mac pulled his jacket closer and took a deep breath as Baxter sidled through the doorway. Taylor followed in his footsteps carefully. They kept to the shadows, hopping from screen to screen across the roof. Some community-minded tenant had tried to create a haven of peace up here, with wicker shades and waterproof loungers, all in sickly shades of olive, tangerine and puce. Mac pulled a face. Fashionable, they were not, but they did provide an excellent way to reach the edge of the roof without being seen.

Far more out of place was the dark-clad man, crouching down behind the parapet. He had been there for hours already, but still his shoulders were tense and his eyes never left the building opposite. _Ex-military,_ guessed Mac, _or perhaps a wannabe?_ He rather thought the latter.

"Sir?" hissed the man, between tight lips. "Is it a go?"

"Not yet," said Baxter, hurriedly. Compared to this man, his own laid-back manner seemed even more pronounced. He cleared his throat. "This here's Mac Taylor, Detective in charge of the operation. That's his man over there with Detective Flack."

"The one that started all this?" said the sniper. Curiosity, to be sure, but loaded with confrontational overtones. Mac stiffened.

"Actually, I think you'll find that the _killer_ started this. My man was only tracking him down."

"Without a gun," the other man sneered, as though this was the worst offence that Adam could have committed.

"Without a gun," nodded Mac. "Not everybody needs one. My people use their brains to fight crime, and bullets only when absolutely necessary."

"Good job you have us to back you up," said the sniper smugly.

_That's not exactly what I was thinking._ Mac frowned at Baxter, who was looking a little guilty. _Seems their boss has been spreading his bile across the whole team. Terrific._

All this time, the sniper had kept his eyes upon the workshop opposite. Now he held up his hand for silence. "Look," he mouthed. "Someone's coming out..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam stepped out of the gloom and into the daylight. It felt strange to be all alone. In the back of his mind, he carried the awful picture of Don, lying helpless with Bob's... no, _his_ knife hovering at the man's throat. Now he knew exactly how the detective had felt that morning. "Obedience training," he muttered. "Guess that makes me whipped."

But what else could he do?

Time after time, the killer forced control by using their own nature against them. A good man would always be easy to dominate. A man like Bob had no conscience.

Cradled in Adam's arm was a blanket, filled with the precious contents of Mac's crate. This was the consequence of Don's refusal to talk - to share a moment that would have completely unmanned him. Strangely enough, Adam didn't care. No way did he want to put his companion through that. For what? For a blanket? Or a sip of water? The agony just wasn't worth it. _Maybe I should have been that strong,_ Adam mused - but yet again, there were no regrets. His words had been his own choice, a sacrifice to give Don the help that he needed. One memory out of many. What did it matter? Adam stumbled forward, heading for the very edge of the roof.

_Throw it over,_ Bob had instructed him calmly. _Or I slit his throat from end to end, and then you and I will be all alone. I doubt you want that, Adam Ross._

Removing one bottle of water and one power bar for his own, Bob swept the rest of the precious supplies across the blanket and tied it up like a bulging sack. Adam lifted it awkwardly and staggered out of the door. One step, then another... Freedom to his left. Open space before him. Watching a couple of pigeons swoop past, Adam thought yet again how wonderful it would be if he could simply leap into the air and fly away from all this. Leave the anger and the pain behind, and soar through the clouds like a wild bird, happy and free. The image was so powerful that he almost dropped the bundle then and there, ready to spread his arms and take off... But no. The truth dragged him down, and his shoulders bowed beneath the weight. Escape was impossible. Nothing could free them now, except for Mac.

Then, suddenly, there he was.

"I really am losing it," gasped Adam, freezing to the spot and dropping the bundle for real this time.

He stared out across the empty air above the city street.

And Mac stared back.

Quiet, and more real than any hallucination had a right to be. Even the incredulous scowl was right - Adam could just make it out. "Mac...?" he whispered.

Mechanically, he picked up the bundle once more and wandered to the very edge of the rooftop. Shaking fingers began to pick at the knots. All this time, Adam stared at the vision, willing it to be real.

Mac waved his hand, and the lab rat jumped.

The man was really there.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Get down," hissed the sniper, but Mac was unafraid. No one else could see him but Adam - and Adam was the only one who needed him right now. Standing up straight, he waited for the lab rat to understand. Part of him wanted to laugh out loud at the look of total shock on the poor man's face.

But then he saw what he was doing.

Released from their bonds, the contents of the blanket tumbled over the edge of the building. Bouncing off gantries and ironwork, they sought the quickest path to the street below. Mac heard startled squeals as people dodged out of the way. Yet Adam's eyes were only for him. The lab rat did not even dare to blink, in case the miracle disappeared.

"I wish that I could do something more for you," muttered Mac. _But at least I can give you strength._ He willed it across to him desperately - and to his delight, the lab rat began to smile.

_You're not alone._

_I know it. Thank you, Mac._ Adam nodded slowly, and turned back to his fate.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** I can't say it enough times - thank you to those who keep reviewing this story. I'm really glad you like Sanchez, by the way. So do I. She kept refusing to leave, so I had to give her more to do. She'll be back in the next chapter.

The end of this chapter is a picture that popped into my head, of Adam and Mac staring at each other across the rooftops, unable to speak, but not really needing to, and of Adam gaining strength from that, to help him through what is about to happen next... I hope that I carried it off.


	18. Chapter 18

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Eighteen**

Time was almost up.

Back in the command centre by now, Mac gripped the radio with bone-white, rigid fingers. Driven by Bob's callous deadline, his team had followed the facts, but they only had half a story. And he was so afraid that it wouldn't be enough.

Sanchez paced up and down, her eyes on the clock. "You better do it now," she said at last. "I don't think you can hold out any longer."

"Just one more hour," Mac muttered grimly. "Dammit, that's all we need."

"Then tell him that," the officer suggested. She stopped her pacing and stared at him. "Aren't you doing this to save his daughter? Time to do some bargaining of your own, perhaps. Sir," she added, smiling.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After his game was cut short, Bob sank into a kind of lethargy. Legs splayed out, he leaned against the wall with his gun across his lap and a dog-eared photo in his hand. Adam watched him warily. He didn't trust the man at all, but this was new behaviour.

Beside the lab rat, Don was half-asleep. Adam laid a hand across his forehead and was startled by a flash of heat that stung his palm and made him pull away. Since the changing of his bandage, the man had been sinking fast. This frightened Adam, more than he cared to admit. Maybe disturbing the wound had made it worse after all. His misguided efforts to help the detective had only made him sicker... _That's nonsense,_ said the rational side of his brain. But this was not a rational situation, and doubts were creeping up on him now like a swarm of flies around a rotting corpse.

_Ugh. Bad metaphor._ Adam pushed the image out of his mind, repulsed.

_I have to do something._

Patting Don's arm gently, more to reassure himself than anything else, Adam clambered to his feet. Bob barely noticed. The lab rat shuffled across the workshop, edging nearer and nearer to his foe. At this point, the rational side of his brain began screaming at him, trying to drag him away - but instinct was Adam's friend right now, and the only thing he could trust beside Mac Taylor. His boss was going to call at any moment. And Adam was going to help him.

_At least, that's the plan,_ thought Adam, catching his breath as he paused in front of the crazy, sadistic killer. _Oh, God. Here we go then..._

Bob looked up, and his fingers inched towards the gun. There was a dead look in his eyes that Adam really didn't like.

"H-hey," croaked the lab rat. He didn't mean for his voice to sound like that, but his throat was dry, and tight with nerves. Too late to turn back now, though. "What're you lookin' at? Is that a picture of your daughter?"

"Trying to bond with me now, are you, Adam Ross?" said Bob with a curl of his lip. But he held out the photo.

Adam took it. "She's pretty," he offered. "How old is she?"

The man shook his head. "Oh no. You're not going to try that psychology crap on me. Buddy up to the bad guy, all cosy cosy, and then betray him - is that your plan? Because I really can't see you pulling it off." He snatched the picture away from Adam's fingertips and shoved it in his pocket.

"I don't have a plan," lied Adam. "I don't have anything." _Just Mac Taylor..._

"That's right," Bob told him. "But I'll tell you what. I'm feeling in need of a little distraction. Go on, Science Boy. Give it your best shot. I'll mark you out of ten."

It was a strange kind of opening, but Adam took it. Clearing his throat, he stared Bob full in the face, his blue eyes earnest.

"It's just that... well, I was thinking, okay..? You really need to let the detective go."

Bob burst out laughing. He really couldn't help himself. Behind Adam, Don gave a grumpy yawn and then settled back into his stupor. The lab rat pushed on. "I don't mean to sound crazy. But really, why are you doing this? You want Mac's help, right? Well, Detective Flack is really sick, and if he dies then so does your chance for _any_ kind of help, I can promise you that. You don't know Mac..." Adam narrowed his eyes, remembering. "When he gets mad... Well, anyway. If Mac tells you what he's found, and you let Flack go, then that's a sign of good faith, isn't it?"

Bob's smile was marred by bitter disbelief. "And what about you?"

"I... I stay here, of course. With you. 'Til they find your daughter." Adam held the other man's gaze, trying to find some humanity in those cold, intelligent eyes. The idea of being alone once more with Bob was truly chilling, but Adam veered away from that and focussed on what was important right now. And that was Don, without a question. Losing him would drive Mac crazy, leading to an endgame that Adam really didn't want to be part of. There had to be a way out of this. A key to persuading Bob. And surely it had to be his daughter?

"What's her name?" Adam tried again.

"Her name is Isla. She's fifteen years old, and she's a wretched nuisance. But she's mine," snapped Bob, "and they had no right to take her." The unexpected sentiment burst from his lips, shocking even him. Adam fell back, startled.

"M-Mac'll find her," he promised - and, right on cue, the radio crackled into life. Bob picked it up from the floor and climbed to his feet, pushing Adam over towards Don.

"You're late," he growled. Holding up one hand in front of the lab rat, he waggled three fingers. _Points for effort, I guess,_ thought Adam sadly as he sank down beside his companion.

"Not really," said Mac. "Are you ready to talk terms?"

"That should be my line," the killer told him, turning his back on the hostages.

Adam shook Don, trying to rouse him. _So close,_ he sighed. The detective murmured something incoherent, rolling his arm across Adam's leg helplessly. "It's okay," the lab rat told him, taking the man's hand in both of his own. "It's okay..." But he didn't really know if he believed it any more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mac focussed on Etta's eager face. It was better than picturing Bob.

"I know who took your daughter." _Begin with half a truth,_ he thought. _Pull him in._ "There were three men."

"Three?" Bob hissed, full of fury. Mac continued.

"The first one was John Street. You know that already." Playing a careful game, he tried to spin his story out and unsettle the man with how much he already knew. "Let me tell you what I think happened there. According to your wife, you received a call at seven thirty this morning. The man on the other end told you he had your daughter. But Mary said you recognised the voice. The man was John Street, a client of yours. One you'd been 'pressuring' for a repayment." Mac paused. "How am I doing so far?"

"Long-winded and pompous," Bob grumbled, but he let the man continue.

"You raced to Street's apartment and confronted him. But things got out of hand. Full of anger, you shot him - and that's when your problems really began. With the kidnapper dead, how would you find your daughter? So you started to search his apartment for a clue to who might have been in on this with Street. Until the cops came along and you had to make your escape." Mac paused. "Only you didn't. You left your phone downstairs and planted a trail of blood to the roof. It seemed too foolish to be a mistake. So it must have been deliberate. You wanted someone to follow you. You wanted this to happen. It was a crazy plan, born in the heat of the moment and barely reasoned through - but here we are."

"Yes - here we are." Bob's voice was silky now. "So, you read my mind. So what? I still have your men. And you aren't telling me anything I didn't know already."

"The second man," said Mac, interrupting Bob like a teacher overriding an insolent pupil, "was Ethan Tang. Also a client."

Bob went quiet.

"The two of them took your daughter and hid her in a storeroom at the restaurant where Tang worked. But Isla fought back. They subdued her, and then Street left. Presumably to make the call and set the ransom demand in progress. Unfortunately, after that, Tang himself was killed."

"And Isla...?" There was a queer note in Bob's voice - not concern exactly, but something closer to warmth than Mac had ever heard from him before.

"Disappeared. We suspect the third man has her."

"And who is he?"

Unable to stall any longer, Mac had to admit their failure. "I'm afraid that's as far as my team has got. We need more time."

"And you don't have it," growled Bob. "The deal was three hours - remember?"

"The deal is irrelevant," Mac shot back. "We need to make a new arrangement. If you want me to find your daughter alive, that is..." he added quietly.

Silence. Mac held his breath, still staring at Sanchez. Bargaining with a girl's life like this went completely against his nature. He really hoped that Bob wouldn't call his bluff. Because, in all honesty, Mac knew that he would try and find her anyway. What else could he do? Sanchez nodded, full of encouragement.

"I'm listening," said Bob.

"Give me until sundown. And I want the detective. He must need a hospital badly by now. He's no use to you dead - you know that." Even as he said the words, Mac felt the hidden fear clutch at his heart. He closed his eyes and fought for control. It would never do to show Bob just how much the two hostages really meant to him.

"And _your_ man? You'd leave him alone with me?"

Mac knew that Adam could hear them. He imagined the lab rat following every twist and turn of the conversation with breathless anxiety. Blue eyes stared at him in his imagination. The man was counting on him, he was sure - but Don's need was greater, and Mac just had to trust that Adam knew it.

"Yes. I would. Do we have a deal?"

Silence again. And then the words that Mac never truly believed he would hear from Bob's mouth.

"We do. Until sundown. Make your arrangements. Call me in half an hour when you're ready, and I'll release him. Goodbye then, Mac Taylor. And may I say - well played."

The connection broke, and the radio dropped to Mac's side. His head was spinning and his arms felt like lead.

"Holy Mother of God," breathed Sanchez. "I can't believe you just did that."

Seeing his plight, she prised the radio from his aching fingers and led him to a chair.

"You've saved Detective Flack," she told him gently.

"Yes - but what about Adam?"

"Adam will understand."

Lowering his head into his hands, Mac could only pray that she was right.


	19. Chapter 19

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Nineteen**

A battle was raging in Adam's imagination. Bob's voice squared off against Mac's voice, as the lab rat struggled to cope with what had just happened.

_"You've left him to die," crowed 'Bob'._

_"He knows I didn't have a choice."_

_"Oh, but you did. You could have left the detective and opted to free the geek."_

_"Detective Flack is injured. He doesn't have any more time."_

_"You could have tried harder to find my daughter. Then I'd have freed them both."_

_"I don't believe that for a second. And we're working as fast as we can."_

_I don't believe that for a second..._

_You've left him to die..._

Adam's fear stole his breath away completely. He clutched at Don's hand in a desperate attempt to ground himself once more. The detective grumbled softly. Longing to reassure him, Adam tried to suck in some air from his dusty surroundings, counting every shuddering success until his lungs were filled. Now he could speak again - but what was there to say?

_You've left him to die..._

He shook his head. Mac would never do that. He had to have faith in the man. Adam conjured up a new picture in his mind - a dark-suited figure standing quietly on a rooftop. It gave him strength.

Besides, wasn't this what he had asked for?

He turned to Don.

"Did you hear? They're coming to get you."

"I heard," mumbled Don. There was something in his tone - another meaning that Adam couldn't quite identify.

Smiling shyly, the lab rat tried again. Perhaps Don hadn't understood?

"Mac came through."

The detective shook his head. "No. 'M not going. Not without you."

"Don't be ridiculous. You haven't got a choice. You can barely move. I... I'm not hurt."

"L-liar, Adam Ross." Flack was grinning now, feebly, it was true, but that didn't matter. Adam's heart leapt at the sight.

"You'll be okay," he said. "And so will I. And... I'll see you in the hospital when I get down. I promise."

_Liar..._ echoed a voice inside his head. Adam ignored it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Half an hour passed, so quickly that Adam barely even noticed it. Mac's arrangements were simple, and Bob found no fault with them. Before the lab rat knew it, he had been pushed outside the workshop. "Move the pot," said Bob. "And then straight back here. You're my insurance policy, and I want to keep you close."

Adam shivered - but Bob was still watching, so he tried to pretend it was only the cold that disturbed him. Trotting across the rooftop, he reached the doorway where this whole nightmare had begun, and glared at it crossly. "Wish I'd never bothered coming through you," he told it. Then he sighed. _Great. Now I'm talking to a door._

The pot was much heavier than he had anticipated. Flack had probably moved it with ease, but Adam could hardly shift it. "Oh, that's not good. Send a weakling to do a hero's job," he chattered to himself, trying to keep his thoughts light. The lab rat bent down and began to roll the pot round and round on its base. Gradually - _very_ gradually, it spiralled out of the way. As soon as it had cleared the door, Adam fell back, gasping. His arms and his back were aching, and the pain across the top of his face was indescribable. He sat on the ground for a moment, feeling stunned - but there was no time for self-pity. Flack was almost free. He couldn't screw things up now, by giving in.

Resisting the urge to crawl across the roof on his hands and knees, Adam rose up on wobbly legs and staggered back to Bob's eager clutches. As soon as he passed the threshold, his enemy grabbed him. Retreating to the farthest corner, Bob sat down against the wall and pulled Adam almost into his lap. The lab rat shuddered in absolute revulsion. He was so close that he could feel the other man's heart, pounding hard against his back. _I didn't know he had one..._ The random thought made him giggle nervously. Bob tightened his grip on Adam's bare arm, and something sharp rested lightly against the swollen mark on his neck. "Don't move," hissed the killer. "I'm warning you."

Adam kept quiet. He didn't trust his voice to stay firm, and he was sick of showing Bob how scared he was.

A loud noise outside startled them both, as the access door flew open. For one shining moment, Adam had a vision of Mac, dressed as a paramedic, bursting into the workshop to rescue them both and slay the hideous monster, Bob...

But, of course, the two men who entered were perfect strangers.

_You watch too much t.v._, Adam sighed to himself as the paramedics crouched down next to Detective Flack. At first, their eyes were drawn to the man and his hostage in the corner, but they tried not to stare, afraid of making things worse. Instead, they turned away and focussed on their single task - the safe removal of Don.

It was such a dream-like experience. After hours of being alone on the roof with only Detective Flack and a killer for company, this intrusion from the real world seemed disconnected, somehow. Trapped like a fly in a spider's web, Adam could almost believe that he was invisible. The paramedics never looked at him again. And Don was on his back by now, strapped to a stretcher and covered with silver foil, like a shiny treat. _A gift for Mac,_ thought Adam, resisting the urge to giggle again. Bob's hot breath tickled his neck. _And what have I got? The devil at my shoulder._

Five minutes more, and Don was gone.

Bob squeezed his fingernails into Adam's skin.

"Now we wait," he whispered. "How shall we pass the time...?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** Ok. I'm sorry. I simply couldn't resist another teeny, tiny cliffhanger...

More tomorrow...


	20. Chapter 20

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Twenty**

They laid him down and carried him out of hell.

For a while, Don was content to float, as the sky and the ceiling above him blurred into one grey mass. But a stubborn word was fighting to break through the fog in his mind - and when he saw Mac's face at last, hovering above him, he remembered what it was.

"Don? Listen, I know you must be hurting. But please, is there anything you can tell me?"

"Adam," gasped Don.

"Yes, I know." Mac's eyes bored into him. "Adam's still up there. That's why I need your help."

"No... he really hates Adam." The words were like treacle and they tried to stick in his throat, but Don was determined.. "Dammit, Mac... shouldn't have left him there. The man's insane... have t' get him out..."

He could see by the look on Mac's face that this was exactly what he had been afraid of. "How well is Bob armed?"

"Two guns... One knife. Oh, God... he cut a mark, on his neck. A cross... Adam's his, Mac... don't think he'll let him go..." Don's eyes closed. It was a struggle to force them open again. Beside him, the paramedics made irritated noises. But Mac kept going.

"What happened to the supplies?"

"My fault. Wouldn't play..."

"Wouldn't _play_?"

"He likes games..." Don's heavy eyelids settled for good this time. Mac rested a hand upon his shoulder.

"I can't leave," he told the man quietly. "But Officer Sanchez is coming with you. She'll act as a link between us. So you'll know when we get him out." His fingertips squeezed so tightly that Don gasped. _I hear you, Mac._ "And we will get him out, Don. That's a promise."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jo ran a weary hand through her hair and gazed around the table. Two pairs of eyes refused to look up. Only Danny stared back, his jaw tight with grim determination. Seeing that face, Jo was almost tempted to turn away herself. Emotions were raw in the room, and connection just seemed to make things worse. Yet Jo knew that somehow she had to bring them back together. _Cruel to be kind..._

"That's enough," she barked. "There's no time for self-indulgence. Don might be safe, but Adam's counting on us."

Lindsay's eyes lifted in shock. She couldn't even remember when she had drifted into a trance. Jo's words were like a slap in the face. Across the table, Hawkes looked troubled too.

"You're right," he said. "So, what have we got?"

"A loan shark named Finn." Danny shook his head. "I still can't get over that. What an ass. And some pretty pissed off clients, who want revenge."

"Revenge?" queried Lindsay. "Or money?"

"Does it matter?" Her husband glared at the room in general. "They hate him, okay? And I can't say I blame 'em."

"But that doesn't help us," said Jo. "We need to find the third man." _Sounds like a movie. _She winced. "How many 'clients' does Robert Finn have?"

"Too many," Lindsay sighed. "Mary showed us his records - all paper, unfortunately. The man's a spider, with a web stretched right across this city, and even beyond. Our kidnapper could be anyone."

"Then we need to make a connection with the first two victims." Jo tried to sound optimistic. "What else do we have?"

"Too much," Lindsay muttered. Danny squeezed her hand.

"I got prints," he offered. "Fresh from the scene at the restaurant. I was just about to run 'em when..."

"When Mac let us know the good news. I understand. Well, that's your priority now. Lindsay, I know it's not fun, but please keep digging through Robert Finn's paperwork. And Sheldon, you and I will go through everything else we have. Yes, _all_ of it," Jo insisted, letting them see the gleam in her eye. "Old and new. We've been given a gift - more precious time to save Adam - and we shouldn't waste it."

"Then what're we doin' sittin' here?" said Danny, rising to his feet. _Always the first to act._ She envied the man his conviction.

They left the room in a flurry of scraping chairs and urgent chatter. Jo watched them go, relieved. First job done. _I guess that was the easy part,_ she sighed, as she followed them out of the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"No more games." Adam's voice was soft, but there was strength behind it. Bob released his fingernails. The marks he had made were so deep, they throbbed as though he were still holding on. Adam resisted the urge to rub at his arm.

"Then what do you suggest?"

The lab rat shifted. "First, let me up. You're armed - I'm not going to run."

"Think you're in charge now, do you?" Bob's tone was quiet too, but dangerous. "Think you've won?"

"No. Not at all." _But you let him go..._ Adam kept his face carefully blank.

"I still have you." Bob slid the point of the knife from the lab rat's neck right along his shoulder and down his arm. With one deft flick, he cut through a strand of the leather thong wrapped over and over around Adam's wrist. The bracelet, nicked by accident, snapped as well, sending white beads rolling all over the floor. Adam jumped.

"Take it off," said his tormentor.

"No," said the lab rat. Bob slapped the side of his face, where the bruising was at its worst. Adam cried out in shock.

"Take it off _now_," Bob repeated. Biting his lip to hold back the hated tears, Adam slowly unwound the cord and held it out.

Before he knew what was happening, Bob had shoved him forwards, face down on the floor. He leapt onto Adam's back and, dropping the knife for a moment, he yanked the man's arms behind him, lashing them together with little regard for how tightly he wove the leather around the lab rat's wrists. Adam struggled furiously, but Bob's wiry strength was still his master. _Dammit,_ he thought, anger building up inside him at the ease with which he had been subdued, yet again.

Suddenly, the weight disappeared from his back, as Bob withdrew. "Now you can get up," he said, reclaiming his knife. "And you're right. You're not going anywhere." Adam struggled to his feet. Raising his battered face, he stared at the man, who had pulled Don's gun out of his waistband by now. He studied it nonchalantly. "Nice piece. Typical cop gun, though." He folded up the penknife and stuck it in his pocket. The same hand came back out again with a packet of cigarettes. "God, I need a smoke. So, where were we? Oh, yes. What shall we do to pass the time?"

Adam backed away, his mind in a whirl as he tried to come up with some kind of brilliant and daring plan that could help him gain the upper hand. Unfortunately, inspiration was far too slow in coming. _I need a distraction. _Leaning against the far wall for support, he slid down to the floor and crossed his legs. "We could talk," he suggested, eyes lowered. _No eye contact. Don't let him see how bad you feel._ "I gave you a memory. Why don't you give me one in return? Any one you like?"

He expected sarcasm, or even a flat denial. But Bob seemed intrigued by this new twist to one of his games.

"A memory of mine? Are you sure, Adam Ross?"

_No, I'm not, _thought Adam suddenly, wondering why he had thought that a glimpse into this man's mind could ever be good. But already, it was too late.

"Very well. Most exciting, I think. From my childhood. The first time I killed a man..."

Adam closed his eyes in despair as the words crept into his head and the nightmare deepened...


	21. Chapter 21

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Twenty One**

Real or imagined, Bob's memory was foul and it sickened him. Adam slumped against the wall when the story was over, and tried to keep from retching. Across the room, Finn had lapsed into smoke-induced silence, drawing on cigarette after cigarette with wicked satisfaction. Dark eyes peered through the twisting wreaths, watching the lab rat smugly.

Adam turned away.

_I hate you,_ he thought, with a coldness that he hadn't felt in years. And that was another mark against the man sitting opposite.

"No more talk?" said Bob.

"No more talk," whispered Adam.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"I got it!" crowed Danny, leaping to his feet. He swung out of the door and raced along the corridor, scattering lab techs like white-coated bowling pins. Jo saw him coming, and her bright eyes filled with hope.

"Oh, tell me it's something good," she begged.

"I truly hope so." He clutched at her arm and dragged her from the lab where she was studying Tang's shirt with driven intensity.

"Danny, wait! I have to..."

"No," he grinned. "Come on. You gotta see this."

'This' turned out to be a simple print match, blinking on his screen. Jo waited expectantly, knowing there had to be more.

Danny folded his arms, enjoying his moment. "This print was taken from inside the Lucky Dragon's _private_ storeroom. It belongs to a man named Jonah McHardy. Jonah doesn't work at the restaurant. In fact, he isn't in the catering business at all."

"What business is he in?" asked Jo, with a twinkle. Danny's glee was infectious.

"He used to be a boxer. Got arrested, too, several times, for brawling in the street. That's how he ended up in the system. These days, he's legit. Works as a bodyguard for high end, mucky-muck clients."

"City men," guessed Jo.

"City men," Danny nodded. He pulled up a list on the next computer. "This is a compilation of all the names that Lindsay gathered from Finn's records. The ones who owed him the most, or seemed to have the most to gain by hurting him. And here," he said, as he highlighted one name with a flourish, "here is our connection."

They stared at the screen together. Jo patted Danny fondly on the back.

"Good work," she said. "I think it's time to pay this Mr. Henry Bonner Jr. a social call - don't you?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm sorry," said the secretary brightly. "Mr. Bonner is currently in a meeting and not to be disturbed."

"You're kiddin' me, right...?" began Danny. Jo stepped forward smoothly.

"Honey," she said. "I really don't want to bore you with the number of times we've heard that particular excuse. What I _want_ to do is talk to Henry Bonner. Now, if you please."

Danny stared at her in open admiration. "How do you _do_ that?" he demanded softly as the secretary buzzed them in without another word of protestation.

"Confidence," whispered Jo. "If you believe it'll work, then invariably it does."

"Nothin' to do with Southern charm, then? 'Cos that's just an unfair advantage."

Jo smiled sweetly. "Hey - if you've got it, use it."

"As your Daddy always says?"

"You're catching on."

"I'm taking notes," he muttered.

Passing through the doorway, they stopped and stared at Henry Bonner's inner sanctum. It was a shrine to greed and heartless opulence; a robber's cave, filled with velvet and leather and shiny, shiny things. Just standing within it made Jo feel oddly guilty, whilst Danny twitched uncomfortably and mumbled something rude beneath his breath.

The CSIs were not the only ones who seemed out of place. Behind a heavy, regal looking desk, sat a middle-aged man with a chubby face and a halo of greying hair. Switching on the false smile of a third-rate charlatan, he stood up to greet them.

"Come in, come in," he cried. Jo studied him shrewdly. His eyes were bright, but it wasn't a healthy glow. Fear was making him feverish, as it leaked from every pore.

_You're the one,_ she thought. But knowing and proving were two different things, and they didn't have any time left for subtle advances.

Bonner hurried around the desk and led them to a cosy nook beside a roaring fire. They settled down together on seats that were so plush, Danny sank backwards in surprise. Jo's attitude was more dignified, as she perched on the edge and folded her hands together, ever so neatly. She looked like an elegant lady - but there was ice in her voice when she spoke. Danny hauled himself up again, ready to join in the fight.

"Mr. Bonner," Jo began. "My name is Jo Danville, and this is Detective Messer. We're from the New York Crime Lab."

"Indeed?" said Henry Bonner. His outward demeanour was placid, but the firelight picked out a throbbing vein in his temple. Danny watched it with ghoulish fascination.

"Indeed," said Jo. "Are you acquainted with a man named Robert Finn?"

_Twitch._ "It's possible. I meet a lot of people in my line of business. I could have Felicia check my contact records..."

"Don't bother," grinned Danny. "I doubt she'd find him. Unless you've got any listings there for, say, 'Loan Sharks'...?"

_Twitch._ "I.. just what are you implying?" Bonner feigned indignation quite effectively under the circumstances.

"No implication," Jo said, with a tiger's smile. "We have proof. Finn's own records, full of receipts - signed by _you_, as a matter of fact. You owed him a lot of money, Mr. Bonner. Thirty thousand dollars, to be exact. Care to comment?"

_Twitch._ "I... er, no."

"Not good enough," Danny told him. "See, our friend's life is on the line thanks to your little plot. And your two friends are dead already... That leaves you to take the fall."

Bonner's eyes travelled nervously to the door, as though he were planning to bolt any second. "There is no plot. Okay - so I owe Finn money. So do a lot of people, I expect. What makes you think that I've got something to do with... with whatever it is that you're accusing me of?"

"That would be kidnapping," cut in Jo. Bonner's wide cheeks flushed pink, and the vein went into overdrive. "Bob Finn's daughter? Your little ransom plan with John Street and Ethan Tang?"

"I don't know those men," gasped Bonner hoarsely.

Danny leaned in. "You're a terrible liar," he said, as he gave the poor man his most ferocious glare. This time, it was Jo who sat back and let her colleague continue. "Your body language is all wrong. So you might as well come clean. We've got your bodyguard's prints at a crime scene. We've got your dodgy financial dealings. My guess is, you 'borrowed' too much from the family business and Finn loaned you money to cover the hole before Daddy found out. Am I right? I'm right," he crowed, watching the vein for confirmation. "We also have a witness who saw a 'city man' visiting Tang at his uncle's restaurant every night. So I'm thinking - pop you in a line up and see what she says. That sound good to you?"

"Okay! Okay..."

To Danny's infinite disgust, the businessman burst into tears. Jo smirked, and swooped in to finish him off.

"Then you admit it?" she pressed.

"It was never meant to be like this..." gasped Bonner. "I didn't want... We were just dreaming. Of ways to get back at Finn. He... he threatened us."

Slipping a trembling hand into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Jo's eyes widened in recognition as he unfolded it.

A cross. Marked in blood.

"I've seen that before," she said. "John Street had one too."

"Finn gives them out to anyone who betrays him." Bonner was snuffling by now, a monogrammed handkerchief held to his streaming eyes. "John Street was two months behind. I... I was three. The cross... it means..."

"Death," said Jo grimly. "I know. So - what was the plan?"

"There _was_ no plan. It was all just talk. At least, that's what I thought. Or I'd never have made the suggestion."

"Then it was your idea."

"T-to kidnap his daughter and pay the man back with his own damned money? Y-yes. It was meant to be ironic. A crazy dream, like winning the lottery. John and I have been friends since childhood. I told him my idea, and he shared it with Tang. Meeting together... it was fun. Like playing a game. Just a game. But then Tang called me and he said they'd gone and done it - and what should they do with her now? I... well, of course I panicked. Those fools had no idea who they were messing with. I knew that if Finn found out, he'd kill us for certain."

"Yeah," said Danny. "That much we've seen. He killed Street already. But not Tang..?"

"No," whispered Bonner. "He didn't kill Tang. Th-that was McHardy. I sent him there to try and sort things out. B-but something went wrong. And the next thing I know, _he's_ calling to tell me that Ethan is dead and the Finn girl is locked in his trunk."

"Must have made your day," Danny told him grimly. "So, where are they now?"

Bonner shook his head, pale eyes wide and appealing. "I can't lose the only leverage I have left. When Finn finds out it was me..."

"That's the least of your worries." Jo stood up and dragged the businessman to his feet. "Right now, Finn is up on the roof of Street's building. He's already shot one of my friends, and he's holding another one hostage until he hears that his daughter is freed. You know the man. You know how that's likely to end. So you tell us right _now_. Before both Isla Finn and my friend become the next unlucky victims of your stupid little 'game'."

Releasing her iron grip, she watched Bonner crumple. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry..."

"Sorry don't cut it," growled Danny. "Where's the girl?"

"My boat." The words were so quiet that Jo had to lean in closer as he repeated them. "She's on my boat. With McHardy. He's waiting for my instructions."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** I chose not to actually describe Bob's 'memory' because sometimes what you are left to imagine can be worse than what you read. And Adam's reaction should give you a clue about how nasty it was! More Adam and Bob tomorrow, as well as Danny and Jo's continuing search for Isla. Thanks for the reviews - they keep me inspired. And I just can't help updating every day. I get too excited!


	22. Chapter 22

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

The final cigarette came to an end. Bob stubbed it out against the rotting wall. Lighting the empty packet on fire, he threw it into the middle of the floor and watched it burn with morbid fascination.

"I'm sick of this place," he grumbled. "Let's play one more game."

Adam gulped as the tiny flames devoured the useless box. _I hope that's not symbollic..._

"I told you," he said wearily. "I'm not playing your games any more. Detective Flack is gone, so you can't make me."

They stared at each other across the deepening gloom.

"So you do have a pair," mused Bob. "But remember - I still have the guns."

"Then shoot me," sighed Adam. "Oh, wait - no, you can't do that, can you? 'Cos you still want your daughter..."

In a flash, his enemy was on him, breathing anger and stale cigarette fumes into his face.

"I can't _kill_ you," he said. "Not yet. But if you push me, then you'll see what I _can_ do..."

Bob lifted the knife from his pocket, and Adam flinched. Though he tried hard not to show it, he had never felt more defeated.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Already, the daylight was starting to fade. New York's jagged skyline took on a dusky glow that was far too placid to match the thoughts in Danny's head. He listened to the water lapping against the wooden boards and tried to calm his breathing.

"You okay?" asked Jo, beside him.

"Me? Yeah, sure, I'm fine." He blinked. The woman was still staring - dammit, why did she have to do that? "Okay - I'm wishin' this day could be over, with Adam safely back in the lab, doin' his Adam thing and makin' us laugh. It just isn't right..."

"No, it's not," she agreed, and turned away. He sighed with relief. "But that's what we're here to fix. So - time to go."

Danny lifted his weapon and gazed at the yacht. _Goddess of Fortune._ It seemed so quiet and peaceful. "Prepare to be boarded..," he muttered, in his best Jack Sparrow accent.

"They're the pirates, Danny," smiled Jo. "We're the good guys. Remember?"

"Sure. No problem." He inched ahead, following the two armed officers who were escorting the CSIs. "Let's just do this, okay?"

Stepping onto the yacht, he felt the sudden shift beneath his feet, from land to sea. It took a few moments to regain his equilibrium. Not that Danny minded. He liked the feel of the water. Constantly moving and always unpredictable, it balanced the natural flow of his own body and made him feel at ease.

The _Goddess of Fortune_ was large, the pleasure craft of a foolish man who liked to keep up the pretense that he was still wealthy. Her trim was gold and her cabins were extensive. The chances of finding Isla before McHardy noticed their presence were slim to none. Danny sighed. He had slipped into the lead by now, so he pushed through the first door, into a long narrow corridor. "NYPD," he muttered, far too quietly to be heard. Sometimes the rules were such a pain. Jo flashed him a glance.

"NYPD," she sang out, loud and clear. An answering clatter came from a doorway at the opposite end of the corridor. Danny froze, his fingers clenching tightly around his weapon.

"Is it him?" he hissed. "Or is it the girl?"

"Can't see through doors," Jo whispered back with unexpected sarcasm. He glanced at her in surprise, but didn't respond. The tension of the day was wearing them all down, bit by bit.

"Go away," a gruff voice shouted.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Jo replied, creeping down the corridor. Danny stayed by her side as well as he could without restricting her movement in such a narrow space. He could smell her perfume, spicy and warm, incongruously cheerful when the moment was so tense.

_Focus, Danny._ He imagined Lindsay, punching his arm. It did the trick, and his head cleared instantly.

"What do you want, then?" the disembodied voice continued, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Bonner gave you up, McHardy. Don't be a jerk," advised Danny. "This can only end one of two ways. And I don't know about you, but I prefer the one where you come out alive. So, whaddaya say?"

"I doubt he's going to fall for that," Jo whispered.

"There's always a first time." And then they both jumped, as a lock was drawn back and a sheepish face appeared at the door. McHardy's top half was naked and damp. His bottom half was - thankfully - draped in a towel.

The room was a shower.

Jo bit her lip and tried not to laugh. Danny was not so subtle.

"Caught in the buff," he grinned. "Told you I was takin' notes, Jo Danville. This say-it-like-you-mean-it thing works a treat. I'm usually more of a push-em-til-they-wanna-punch-my-face guy, but I'm never gonna mock your style again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." Jo smiled sweetly as she spun McHardy around and cuffed his hands behind his back. The man was enormous, and could have taken her down in a trice, but there was a dullness behind his eyes that spoke to the reason he had been so quickly defeated. Boxing had taken its toll on him long ago, knocking the sense right out of his head.

_More fool Bonner,_ thought Danny, _trusting McMuscles here to fix his problem. If he hadn't been such a coward, this day might have gone a little differently..._

"Where's the girl?" he demanded, squaring up to the giant man like a terrier biting the heels of a startled mastiff.

"She... she's asleep," McHardy stuttered, using his shoulder to point in the general direction. "I put her to sleep. Couldn't stop her from fighting. I didn't want to hurt her... Not like the other one. I'm so sorry 'bout that..," he added, abashed. Danny almost began to feel sorry for him.

Jo handed McHardy over to the officers. Unlocking the door that the man had indicated, she poked her head through. "Thank the Lord," she sighed, and she beckoned to Danny. "Look there. The girl's unharmed."

Isla Finn, the focus of so much trouble, was curled up on a lower bunk. Her cheeks were flushed, and she lay on her side with her long hair tangled around her head like a thicket. Danny released his breath in a long, slow hiss. Then he paused.

"The girl's asleep," he said.

"Yes." Jo nodded patiently.

"For how long?" he continued. "Bob said he wanted to hear her voice. Remember?" He rounded on McHardy. "What did you give her?"

"I... I'm not sure. There was a bottle... I use it myself, when I can't sleep." The bodyguard shook his head. "I gave her a couple of spoonfuls... Was that wrong?" He looked forlorn - but Danny's sympathy had vanished.

"Read the label next time," he growled. "Where'd the bottle go?"

"It was empty. I... I threw it overboard."


	23. Chapter 23

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Twenty Three**

"I can't do that," gasped Mary. "I can't tell him what to do."

"I'm not asking you to," said Lindsay, patiently. "All you need to tell him is that Isla is safe and sound."

"But she's not." Mary stroked her daughter's face and hung over her longingly. "She hasn't woken up. Why won't she speak to me?" The tremor in her voice spoke of nerves held captive far too long by a man with a callous heart.

"It's just a sleeping draught." Lindsay wrapped her arm around the woman's shoulder and tried to ease her gently back into her chair. "I promise you. Jo's going to come and sit with her. So she'll be fine, and wide awake by the time we return."

"I'm not leaving this hospital," Mary said stubbornly.

_Oh, great,_ thought Lindsay. _Now she finds her backbone._ "Look," she began once more, in the calmest tones that she could muster, "we helped you. Now you need to help us. Your husband... Bob Finn," she amended, seeing the look of sudden hatred that flashed across Mary's face. "He still has our friend. And he's hurting him. We need to prove to him that Isla is found. And you're the only one he'll believe."

Mary looked up at last. Her face was white and drawn, but her eyes had regained their clarity. "He's hurting him?" she asked quietly.

"I believe so, yes." Lindsay tried to control the tremor in her voice, but it was difficult. All she could see was Adam, lost and alone. She looked away for a moment. When she looked back, Mary Finn was nodding.

"My _husband_ shouldn't be allowed to hurt anyone, ever again." She stood up, with one last, loving glance at her daughter. "Take me to him. Quickly, before I lose my nerve."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam stood on the rooftop alone with a madman, and watched the sun go down. There was gooseflesh on his skin, and he shivered uncontrollably. The tattered remains of his t-shirt lay strewn around the workshop, somewhere behind him. His upper half was bare now; naked and vulnerable under the staggering sky. He bowed his head in shame. How had Bob known? How had he reduced him to this? Such a pitiful figure, a broken fool; every layer stripped away until only his fear was left. And Bob was master of that fear, it seemed.

_"I can see you, Adam Ross," Bob said. "I know the thoughts in your mind. You give them away so easily. All that anyone has to do is watch you. It isn't pain that makes you afraid. You've borne too much of that already in your life. It's almost like an old friend to you by now. You slip it on easily, like a glove, or a shoe. No, that isn't it at all. So I'm not going to hurt you."_

_Adam was transfixed by the man's steady gaze and the rhythm of his words. He could feel the cold knife resting against his throat, but Bob was right - it didn't matter any more._

_"You care too much about other people. You want them to like you. You're terrified when you think you've done something to hurt them, or to show them who you really are inside." Bob gave a wide, mocking smile. "In fact, this whole situation has been the perfect nightmare for you. You've got everything wrong, at every step, like a frightened child, and now your friend is wounded - probably dead, for all you know. As for your boss, he thinks you're so worthless, he left you behind to die."_

_Left you behind to die._

_The echo returned to Adam's head. He tried to close his mind against it, but Bob's leering face was far too close, and nothing could stop the malignant tongue from poisoning him with every single word._

_Suddenly, Bob lashed out with the knife and split his t-shirt wide open, from top to bottom. Adam drew back in horror - but there was nowhere else to go. His hands were crushed behind him as the madman leaned in closer._

_"You've nothing left but your shame," he told Adam, swelling before him in triumph. "Allow me to show you."_

_Slash went the knife again, catching the skin on his shoulder and making him gasp as the shirt fell down on one side. Slash, once again, on the other side - and now there was only his skin left intact. Adam tried to curl in on himself as Bob's hand touched his chest, above his heart, like a creeping sickness._

_"Get off me," Adam cried. "You've got no right."_

_"No right to what?" Bob's dark eyes gleamed in satisfaction as he pulled his hand away. Adam almost expected the skin to be shrivelled and black where his fingers had been. He leaned back on his heels and stared at his prey. "I told you before. You're mine, Adam Ross. Play one more game with me, and you'll know that for sure."_

In the fading light, they stood together, one man in front of the other. Don's gun rested lightly in the curve of Adam's back, just above his tightly bound hands, the barrel cold as ice against his skin.

_I'm losing my mind,_ thought the lab rat, terrified, as the wind whistled round him, and through him, and tore the feeling from his flesh. He was so numb by now that he could barely think straight - but still the little voice remained inside him, seeking out the vital, warm-hearted man he had always tried to be. _Don't give up,_ it said softly. _Wait for Mac. Just a little while longer. He's coming._

Mac. Once again, with all the strength that he possessed, Adam dragged out the image of his boss standing quiet and firm on the rooftop opposite. He held it before him like a torch, one that Bob could not see and would never understand.

Faith in another human being, and in the God that Mac trusted.

Hope that this would end.

The love of his friends.

"Tell me about your game, then," he challenged the madman. "I'm ready to play."

In return, Bob's voice was eager, but also a little surprised at the lab rat's newfound determination. "Twenty questions," he said.

"Twenty questions? Is that all?" Adam didn't really know what he had expected, but that wasn't it.

"That's all. Simple really." Bob leaned in and pointed over his shoulder, across the roof. "I'm sure you'll grasp the concept straight away. I think of something. You ask me questions - a yes or no answer is all that I can give you. If the answer is yes, you stand still. If the answer is no..." He breathed in deeply, full of anticipation. "You step forwards. One step for each wrong answer. Let's see how far that gets us."

"But... that... that could take me..." _All the way to the edge of the roof._ Adam's brain spun frantically, trying to calculate how many footsteps it would take to pitch him right over the edge. Bob had kept his promise. This _was _to be the very last game of all.

"Only if you fail." Bob shrugged. "No more stalling. Time to begin."

_Hurry up, Mac,_ thought Adam, chilled by more than the wind. "A-animal?" he said.

"Nope," said Bob. The lab rat could feel him grinning behind his back as he pushed him forwards.

"V-vegetable?" The cold had got into his chest by now, and every word was an effort.

"No."

"O-okay. Mineral, then?"

"No," Bob whispered. "That's three steps forward. Bad luck, Adam."

_No? What does he mean? That's not possible!_ Adam began to panic.

"Do you give up?" asked the killer, politely. "If so, you forfeit every answer. Straight to the end."

"No - no! I'm still thinking." Adam forced his tired brain to break through the numbness. _I'm at the lab. Just a day at the lab. Trying to find the answers to a puzzle. Logic, Adam. You're good at that. You can do this... _Question after question sprang forth in hope, only for Bob to knock him back down again. The lab rat staggered across the roof, one dreadful step at a time. And the edge grew closer. _Surely he won't..._ But the killer's eyes were wild by now, and there was no telling what he would do.

_How can I stop him? He's insane..._

"Question nineteen," hissed Bob.

Adam gazed around him. "Can I see it out here?" he asked, desperately.

Bob laughed.

"Not yet," he said. "But you're close now. That's a 'no', by the way."

One more step. Before he even knew what he was doing, Adam's trembling legs had carried him onto the top of the wide parapet.

"Last chance," Bob said. Adam turned to look at him.

_He doesn't care. Not any more._ The realisation was a desperate one. _Sunset is here, and Mac may have found his daughter - but either way, my life is over. All Bob wants to do right now is send me to my death._...

_My death..._

He locked his legs as firmly as he could, and gazed down at the sidewalk, far below.

"The anwer is... my death!"

For one triumphant moment, it was worth it for the look upon Bob's face.

"It is," he muttered, bitterly.

Adam started to get down - but Bob was in his way, and he refused to let him pass.

"Now you stay there," he said. "And we wait for the call together."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** I thought very hard about this chapter. And I really hope it works. I could have just let Bob hurt Adam physically. But that would have been too easy, and I think that what he really wants to do is break the man. That's his pleasure. One of your reviews (thanks, CAT217) said that all of Adam's layers were being stripped away, and suddenly I had a picture of Adam standing on the rooftop alone with Bob, just as I described him in this chapter. It made me shudder so much that I knew it was what I wanted to try and convey.

Two more chapters to go...

And thank you so much, by the way! A hundred reviews. When I started, I had a whimsical hope that maybe I would reach fifty. I'm so delighted. I read them all, and they have made a difference to the story, I can promise you.


	24. Chapter 24

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Twenty Four**

Just seeing Mac's face, with its wary, troubled smile made Lindsay feel better. She ushered Mary into the room, and stood beside her to make a formal introduction. "Mary Finn - this is Detective Mac Taylor."

"I'm sorry to be meeting under these circumstances," said the detective. Mary liked his voice. It was warm, and full of genuine concern. "How's your daughter?"

The woman ducked her head and clenched her fingers tightly together, fighting against her nervous habit. "Sleeping like a baby," she said, with a casual lightness that Lindsay knew was feigned.

"And I know you probably wish that you were with her right now." Holding out his hand, Mac waited patiently until the woman responded. Ignoring the raw and damaged skin, he clasped her palm against his own. She stared at him, startled. No man in her life had ever been so gentle. "I'm so sorry we had to drag you away."

"No - I'm sorry. My... Robert caused all of this. How.. how is your friend?"

"Which one?" asked Mac, and then bit his lip. He hadn't meant to sound insensitive. Lindsay leapt in to help him.

"Don's doing fine," she told her boss. "The bullet is out of his leg and his fever is down. He's sleeping like a baby too." She smiled. "Looks like you got him out of there in time. The doctors don't expect any long term damage." Then she turned to Mary. "The name of our friend on the roof is Adam Ross. He's a really good man. And if he knew that you were here to help him, he'd be so grateful."

Mary nodded awkwardly. The easy, thoughtful manner of these people was making her oddly uncomfortable. She didn't know how to handle herself - what to say, what to do, or even where to look. Turning her head, she searched round for somewhere quiet to wait that was out of the way. Mac saw her need, and leapt to help her.

"Here - take this chair," he offered, scraping it back so that she could sit down. Standing behind her, he couldn't see the tears that filled her eyes. But he saw the trembling set of her shoulders. Moving in front of her, he crouched down and looked up into her face. "Mrs. Finn. We won't do this until you're quite ready."

She dragged the heel of her palm across her cheek and shook her head. "No. We can do it now. I know my... Robert. Your friend shouldn't have to suffer because I can't control my feelings. Please. I think I need to get it over with. Or I'll be too scared to do it at all."

"Very well," said Mac. "Then it's time. And thank you. I really don't want to leave Adam alone with Finn a moment longer."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The person at the centre of all their thoughts was standing twenty-eight stories up, with a killer behind him and nothing before him but empty space and a drop that made his heart clench in his chest.

_I'm not afraid of heights,_ he kept telling himself. _Just look straight ahead. Don't look down..._ His blue eyes drifted, dazzled by the lights that were starting to bloom all over the city. _So pretty,_ he thought in baffled wonderment. _Why did I never notice before..?_

The chill had spread through to his bones by now, but Adam barely felt it. Alarm bells rang in his head, but he missed those too. He swayed in the breeze, from side to side, and let his imagination wander freely over the fiery clouds and darkening rooftops. _City's burning... So warm... Don't let the crime lab catch on fire... All those chemicals. That'd be some explosion. Boom!_ Liking the sound of this word in his head, he tried it out loud, as his thoughts ran on to Danny. "Boom!" he giggled.

"Are you cracking up?" asked Bob. Adam turned round - at least, his head did. His thoughts took a little while longer to catch up.

"Wha...? No," he grinned. "But look - it's a lovely view."

"I don't care." Bob jabbed at him with Don's gun, making him wobble. Adam's senses rushed back to save him. He barely caught himself, and gasped in fright. At the same time, Bob gave a start as the radio came to life in his pocket.

_Mac!_ thought the lab rat, dizzily. _Time to fly..._

"You took your sweet time," growled Bob, as he held the device to his lips. "I hope you've got her."

_I hope so too. Poor girl._ Adam strained his ears, trying to catch the reply.

"We have," said his boss.

"So put her on," Bob demanded. "Let me hear her voice. Then you can have your fool of a scientist. No Isla, no Adam."

_Liar!_ sang the voice in Adam's head.

"First let me know that he's all right."

Bob glared in Adam's direction. "Say something," he commanded.

Adam's brain turned slowly. "Hey, Mac!" he managed, at last. "I'm here. It's okay."

"Are you hurt?"

"Um... I'm cold..," he offered, randomly. "Could use a d-decent shirt right now. Bullet proof, like that magic one of yours..."

"Enough rambling," snapped Bob. "Put my daughter on. Then we can finish this."

The rooftop was silent, as both men waited. Only the wind sighed unhappily.

"Robert?" said a wary voice. Even Adam could tell that this wasn't a child.

"Mary." Bob's face grew stony. "What kind of trick_ is _this, woman?"

"Isla's okay. They wanted me to tell you. She's just... sleeping."

"Sleeping. As in dead?"

"No! No. The man who took her gave her some medicine. She'll be awake in an hour or so."

"You stupid cow." Bob's sibilant whisper made Adam's flesh crawl. "Don't let them use you like this. They're trying to trick me."

"I'm not stupid, Robert." Mary's voice rose higher. Bob pulled the radio back in surprise. "And Isla _is_ safe. What's more, we're _both_ safe. And we're not coming back to you - ever. You've lost us both, I can promise you that."

"Then I'll see you in hell!"

To Adam's horror, Bob tossed the radio over the side of the building. For a moment, both men followed its quiet descent with their eyes. Then they stared at each other. There was only one way for Bob to vent his fury - and Adam knew for certain how it would be. He braced himself, as Bob leapt up onto the ledge.

"Nice knowing you, Adam Ross," he snarled, flinging Don's gun away from him too, and seizing the lab rat's hair. He twisted it between his fingers tightly, a death grip that he did not plan to break. "Let's end this game together."

_Shoot him!_ thought Adam desperately... but he knew that the sniper's chance had already been lost. One shot, two victims. Unacceptable...

_I don't want to die..._

Cursing the fact that his wrists were tied, Adam threw all his weight away from Bob and tried to topple them both in the safest direction. But Bob was still much stronger than him, and fuelled even more by selfish rage and bitter disappointment. Together, they wrangled back and forth, each man trying to gain the advantage. Adam was screaming in pain and fear by now. Bob fought in deadly silence. Neither heard the door crash open behind them.

"Stand still!" barked a voice, so close that it startled them both. Adam was first to recover. Grabbing the only advantage he was ever likely to get, he hooked his foot around Bob's leg and pulled - just as the other man saw his plan, and tried to twist away.

Gravity laughed, and snapped its fingers.

Losing all sense of direction, Adam toppled through the air. His only fierce delight as he fell was the knowledge that Bob was with him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** I know. One more cliffhanger. But come on - they _are _on a rooftop!

Last chapter tomorrow. And for those of you missing Don, fret no more - he's in it. I would have brought him back sooner but this story takes place in such a short period of time that I had to give the poor man a realistic break so the doctors could fix him. Bless.


	25. Chapter 25

**HIGH STAKES**

**Chapter Twenty Five**

Mac thought that his heart would stop completely when the two men fell through the air. Time slowed down, as he tried to work out which way they were tilting. The sound that they made as they hit the rooftop in front of him was the best thing he had heard in a very long time.

Stunned by the landing, Bob let go and Adam was thrown from his clutches at last. Mac ran towards him, halting in surprise when he finally saw the state of his friend. Adam's swollen eyes were closed, his face was a mess and his upper body was marked with an ugly patchwork of nicks and bruises. Just looking at him made Mac feel cold, and he tore off his jacket, draping it over the man to hide his indignity. He knew how much that would mean to Adam. The warm and thoughtful action eased the lab rat back to his senses. Opening his blue eyes, he stared up in bewilderment.

"Mac!" he cried out. "Did I fly?"

Mac smiled with joyous relief.

"No, Adam. I'm afraid you're still on the rooftop."

"Oh." Adam thought about that for a moment and then his gaze darkened. "And... is he... Is...? Oh, Mac..." His words trailed off into painful silence. A lump rose up in Mac's throat.

Reaching a hand out, he hauled the man to his feet and untied the cord around his wrists.

"See for yourself," he suggested.

Bob was pinned like a beetle on his back, with Baxter and four other officers straining to hold him as he kicked, and spat, and struggled.

"Not dead, then," whispered Adam.

"Neither are you," said Mac.

Standing beside his boss at last, Adam let out a long, shuddering breath. Then he stared down at his foe with unreadable eyes.

"Think you've won?" shrieked Bob, who was looking far less frightening and far more desperate now.

"Yes," said Adam. "I do."

And he walked away. Mac kept a casual arm around his shoulder, holding him up. He could see the tremor in the other man's limbs, but he knew that Adam needed to leave this scene right now, before shock overwhelmed him completely.

His efforts didn't go unnoticed. "Thanks, boss," the lab rat whispered, as he finally passed through the hated doorway, out of his nightmare and into the real world once more.

Game over.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm so sorry," Mary gasped, as Mac knocked politely and entered Isla's hospital room. It was the tenth time at least that she had apologised. He shook his head and dismissed her words with a gentle flick of his hand.

"I told you. It's done. Adam is safe, and so are you."

"But I nearly killed him." Her eyes were bloodshot and raw around the edges from too much crying. _Time to heal,_ thought Mac.

"No, that was your husband. Ex-husband, I imagine, very soon." He smiled across at Jo. The dark-haired woman perched gracefully, as always, on a plastic chair in the corner of the room. Only she could make a hospital chair look elegant. "And I believe I know someone who could give you plenty of good advice on that subject."

"Already have," Jo admitted, looking suitably penitent. She rose to her feet. Isla lifted a sleepy head from the pillow and turned to watch her as she walked towards the door.

"Thank you," whispered the girl.

"Yes - thank you so much," agreed Mary fervently. The exhausted mother sat down next to her child and smoothed her hair with trembling fingers. Mac turned back for one final look as Jo dragged him from the room.

"Leave them in peace," she chided. "Let's get a coffee. If you're as parched as I am, then..."

"Then my throat's as dry as a creek bed in a drought?" Mac suggested. His eyes lit up with a rare, mischievous glow as he watched the slow smile spread across her face.

"Mac Taylor! I guess you've been talking to Lindsay. Are you teasing me?"

"I would never," he told her seriously. "Go, fetch your coffee. I've just got a couple more stops to make."

"I know." She tilted her head. "We did good, Mac. Lord, what a horrible day."

_We did good,_ he echoed silently, as he watched her walk away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Next stop for Mac was Adam's room - but to his surprise, the bed was empty; sheets askew and pillows shoved underneath them in a vain attempt to make the place look occupied. "Oh, Adam," he grumbled. Turning away, he thought for a moment, and smiled. _So predictable._

Retracing his steps along the corridor and round a corner to another section of the ward, he followed his hunch to a third hospital room. Mac was about to go in when an unexpected hiss made him rock on his heels.

"Pssst! No - don't," said an urgent, familiar voice. "Just give him a moment."

The detective turned around.

There, perched on a bed in an empty cubicle, sat Officer Sanchez, swinging her legs. Beside her, a nurse stood, grinning. Mac looked suspicious.

"What's going on?"

Sanchez shrugged. "Your CSI begged for a favour. Helen here was kind enough to grant it. She snuck him out of his room."

"For the good of his health," the nurse added, winking at Mac. "Poor man was fretting. Needed to set his mind at ease."

"I understand." Mac nodded pleasantly. The charm that Adam possessed was far more powerful than he knew, or would ever believe. "But I don't think they'll mind if I join them." Crossing back to the door, he started to push it open. Fragments of a conversation slipped out through the crack and made him pause. Curiosity fought with guilt and won, as he listened, unobserved.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm so glad you're okay," breathed Adam. "They wouldn't tell me anything properly. That's why I had to come and see for myself."

"Well, now you see me." Don grinned woozily. "How 'bout you?"

"Oh - me? I'm fine." Adam flushed as he gave the same old answer. He picked at the bed sheet with nervous fingers. "Just a couple of bruises. You know?"

"Yes," said Don. "I know." He shifted himself up higher on his pillows and stared at Adam with eyes that were suddenly sharp. "I know what you did."

"Wha.. what did I do?" The lab rat gulped. His mind raced as he thought back through the catalogue of disasters that had marked his first day as a CSI in training. _Last day,_ he reminded himself, with a sigh.

"Adam - you're such an idiot sometimes. Don't beat yourself up. You saved me. I heard you, okay?"

"Not me." Adam shook his head. "That was Mac. Remember?"

"Sure, Mac. I know that. But first there was you. You stood up to him, Adam. You begged him to let me go. And you offered to stay behind. I think, if you hadn't done that, maybe Mac would have failed as well."

Adam's eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open. "You heard? You heard me say that? I thought you were asleep."

"With all that jabbering? Fat chance." Don smirked and closed his eyes, glad to have said his piece. "And I'll be telling Mac as well."

"Oh - no, don't do that." Adam shook his head. "I don't deserve it."

"Too late," said Mac as he slipped into the room. Honour would not let him stay outside a moment longer. Besides, the look on Adam's face was worth a little embarrassment.

"Hey, Mac." Don opened his eyes and grinned. "You come to fetch this runaway already?"

"If you're done with him." Mac watched as Adam shuffled to his feet. Clearly in pain, but dogged as ever, the lab rat tried to look nonchalant. "I'll be back in a while. Can I get you anything?"

"I like the sound of Adam's nurse..," Don suggested, settling his hands behind his head.

_No worries there, then._ Lindsay was right - Don was going to be just fine. Smiling to himself, Mac took Adam's arm and steered him out of the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I blew it. Didn't I?" The lab rat tugged on his hospital gown. His eyes were carefully blank. Mac was uneasy. He recognised that look all too well. He'd worn it himself, in the past.

"Blew what?" Mac chose not to understand Adam's comment. He wanted to push the man further and make him follow this train of thought on his own, out loud. Adam was far too reticent when it came to the things that hurt him. _Hypocrite, _he told himself wrily. But knowing his own flaws might show him how to help this man, now. Mac waited.

"You trusted me. 'Don't let me down', that's what you said." Adam's voice was choked, as he remembered the conversation. Already, it seemed so long ago. A whole world had come in between them since then; full of pain, and fear, and terrible shame. The man closed his eyes and forced the experience deep into the back of his mind, to dwell with the monster that huddled there already.

"I remember."

"So... I did let you down, right? I left the crime scene and didn't tell them where I was going. I put myself in danger, and Detective Flack as well."

"Yes. You did that."

Adam frowned, unaccountably irritated by Mac's manner.

"And I'm in trouble, okay? I know it. You're probably just being kind and waiting 'til I feel better, so you can drag me into your office and suspend me for a month. Or maybe..." _Fire me,_ his helpful brain supplied. _I deserve it._

Mac's eyes bored into him. "Are you finished?"

"Y-yes." The lab rat stuttered to a halt.

Steering him into a quiet alcove, Mac gripped his shoulders firmly. He was shocked to feel how badly the man was shivering once again. Cold? Or distress? Mac suspected it was the latter. And he knew that he needed to fix it, right away. "Adam. At one time or another, every one of us has made a poor decision. We're human, okay?"

"Even you?"

Mac laughed at the man's stubborn faith. He couldn't help it. "Even me. Remember Clay Dobson?" He paused, as a grinning vision leapt off a rooftop. Today had been a stark reminder. _So close..._ "What really matters is how you choose to deal with your mistake. I fought with mine, but in the end, I accepted the consequences. So did you. I heard what Don said just now. You saved him, Adam. Somehow, the two of you managed to stay alive - and I'm beginning to think that a lot of that was down to you. The girl is safe, the bad guy's been arrested, and I think you've had enough 'punishment' for one small mistake. Don't you?"

Adam leaned back against the wall. Mac stopped talking and took a good look at his face. Bruises stood out in stark relief against the waxy pallor of his skin - but his eyes were shining. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft as though he hardly dared to believe what he was saying.

"Then... then you still think I'd be a good CSI?"

Mac smiled.

"I had my doubts," he admitted. "I don't any more."

Blinking shyly, Adam smiled back. A weight he hadn't even known was there fell from him and disappeared, like a stone into water. _Subject closed,_ he guessed.

Moving out of the alcove with Mac, he prodded at the tape across his nose experimentally. "Oof," he whispered. "Sore."

"I'm sure it is." Mac stared down the corridor. Jo was heading in their direction, a cup of coffee steaming in her hands. Seeing her reminded him of something. He turned back to the lab rat.

"I'm curious, by the way," he said to Adam. "Which of you punched Bob in the face and made his nose bleed like that?"

Adam halted. He stared back at his boss, and then at Jo. "You had a pool going... didn't you?" he said, accusingly.

"More like an ongoing discussion."

"And I'm betting that everyone thought it was Detective Flack. Am I right?"

Mac nodded again.

"Apart from Jo," whispered Adam fondly, watching her stroll towards them, oblivious.

"Apart from Jo. She backed you all the way."

"And she was right." Adam closed his eyes, forced to picture the moment. It wasn't really funny when he thought about it. But knowing that somebody out there had believed in him that much? Well, that _did_ help. Adam smiled; a genuine, playful smile that lit up the whole of his face at last. "It was me. I did it."

Mac gave him one of those looks that Adam had never been able to read. Then he glanced at Jo, who had seen them by now, and was waving happily.

"I'm proud of you, Adam," he sighed. "But really, that's not the news I was hoping for. Knowing that she was right, and we were wrong?" He shook his head regretfully, grinning all the while. "She's going to be impossible to live with..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** And that's the end! I'm sorry, really. I've had a blast writing this story and reading all of your comments. Dragging out the suspense was such fun! Especially because of your brilliant reactions. There'll be a new story coming soon. I've already written Chapter One, so I'll just get a few more chapters done and then start posting it.

See you soon. And thanks so much for reading!


End file.
